


See No Evil

by blueTshirts



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Armin is a badass, Bruce Wayne House, First story, Ghosts, Jean is a dork, M/M, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein-centric, Marco is a cuite, POV Jean Kirstein, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-12-17 11:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11850540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueTshirts/pseuds/blueTshirts
Summary: It’s always the feeling.It’s the clutch in my lungs and in my throat that pulls a gasp from my lips.That’s how I know they’re there.It’s not that I see ghosts, it’s that I feel them.Jean’s had a lifetime of sleepless nights and constant stalking. All for one reason: Ghosts. At least he’s able to deal with them with the help of his Bruce Wayne-esque friend, Armin. That is until they are met with a spirit that they’ve never encountered before, leaving a whispering prophecy of how human life is threatened by the rise of the dead. Jean and Armin have to pull together a motley crew consisting of a psychic, a witch, a telepath, a healer, and a fanboy to save humanity.This oughta be good.





	1. Mary-Elle: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So it begins...  
> Have fun.

It’s always the feeling.  
It’s the clutch in my lungs and in my throat that pulls a gasp from my lips.  
That’s how I know they’re there.  
It’s not that I see ghosts, it’s that I feel them. 

Now, once I’ve already awoken from my meticulously-sheep-counted sleep, I’ll feverously look around the room searching for the damned being that’s pulled me from my slumber. And then, of course I see them.  
Like now; I stare at the black wisps of a woman standing at the end of my bed. Her hair, long and dark, floating gently at the ends as if it was trying to oppose gravity. Her long dress clinging onto her body in a tainted shape of what she used to be. Her arms hang loosely at her sides, fingers faded to black. Ghosts always have this almost transparent skin, like fog, resembling their living features in a sunken drained way.  
She looks down at me, emotionless. Most of the time, ghosts don’t really express too much emotion, only sometimes will they imitate their living soul’s defining characteristic. That’s why you normally hear about ghost children, because their souls are so pure and full of curiosity or liveliness. The more pure the soul the person had, the stronger their ghost is.  
But her, this nice lady that’s been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn for nearly two weeks now, doesn’t have anything to say. She just likes to looks at me.  
Ugh, the dead, so easily amused.  
“What?” I spit at her in a sleep thick croak. She doesn’t move. Nothing. Just more staring. Not even a blink. “Whatever,” I grumble and roll over pulling my pillow over my head.  
And once again, it’s not the sight of them that sucks, it’s the feeling. I can still feel her there, being an annoyance. That breathless feeling that’s hard to sleep around. There’s no point in trying. Every night I try and fall asleep with that clutching feeling in my throat, it never works. Well, not in twenty five years it hasn’t.  
I groan into my pillow and roll back over, staring at the ceiling. Well not at my ceiling, it’s my dead goldfish, Glenn, that’s been floating around my head for about twenty years now. He’s kind of how I found out that I could see ghosts instead of just feeling like I was going crazy. After almost eight years of therapy I learned that lying would get me out of the weekly sessions. I lied saying that I didn’t see the ‘black and white people’ anymore until I got out of therapy completely. Then I figured that if I didn’t talk about it, people wouldn’t care.  
Glenn floats in lazy circles above my head, swimming through the thin air, never quite learning that he doesn’t have to keep moving to stay alive. I’ve gotten over the feeling of Glenn being there. One tiny goldfish versus an entire human being. Yeah, sometimes I even forget Glenn is there when there’s a bunch of spirits around.  
I look back down at the lady standing there. I should really get her to Armin. He’ll put her to rest. I make note to do it once the sun is up. For now: caffeine.  
I drag myself out of the tangle of sheets and promise my bed that I’ll have a full night's sleep one day. I walk around the friendly-foot-of-the-bed-gawker and stop beside her for a moment. We stare eachother down, she floats a few inches taller than me and pins me with dull black and gray eyes. I glare at her for what feels appropriate for being a nuisance to my sleeping schedule for two weeks, and blow in her face for good measure. Her hair is the only thing to react to my blowing, moving only a slow inch. I roll my eyes at her and stomp out of my room.  
The rest of the apartment is quiet, well that is except for the snoring in the bedroom on the opposite side of the living room. Eren’s asleep, good. It’s not like I really care if I wake him up or not, it’s just that he knows why I’m awake and would start asking a bunch of questions.  
Eren is one of the few people who know (and believe) that I can see the dead. Armin had introduced me to him a few years ago when I wanted to start living on my own and didn’t really have anyone to move in with that could deal with my...friends. But Eren’s a freak and loves it. He’s into all things supernatural and thinks I’m some sort of grade A source for it all. I continue to try and disappoint him but the kid never gets tired of it. He’s quite the guy.  
I stumble to the kitchen, yank open the fridge, and down half of the spare pot of black coffee I keep there. I turn to take a seat and find that my lovely ghost lady friend has followed me to the kitchen, where she looms over the counter. I sigh, why does this have to be normal?  
I’m frequently waken up by the lost souls of the dead. Although, I don’t think these ghosts are actually lost. Over the years, I’ve concluded that they’re just on their way to...whatever. The stage the spirits are in when I can see them is a transferring period between when they were alive to whatever’s next. Some people believe that you go straight to wherever you’re supposed to go right after you die. I don’t think so, I’m pretty sure everyone who dies spends a little time in Ghostland, even if it’s just to assess their situation and move to the next or if they plan on stay there for the rest of eternity trying to do whatever they couldn’t when they were alive.  
So this chick? She could be dead for one hundred years now, or had just died two weeks ago. I don’t know. All I get is a rude wake up call in the middle of the night.  
I reluctantly sit at the counter across from her, knowing she’s not going to leave my side anytime soon, and grab my sketchbook lying idly at the end of the table. It’s open to an apparition that I’d seen last month. A real nasty dude. His guy had no arms, legs, or head. He was just one floating torso, pacing my room making a panicked wheezing sound. The third night he was doing this, I finally threw a pillow at him and yelled for him to get the fuck out of the house, at this he screamed a painfully thick howl and started pacing faster. He kept screaming and screaming and screaming. Eren eventually rushed to my room in a sleep thick haze asking what I was yelling about. I gave up on dealing with it the rest of the night and dragged the giant torso to Armin's doorstep begging him to do something about it.  
So yeah, after that I went home and drew him. The only way I can log these shits. I have a bookshelf full of sketchbooks covered with drawings of the spirits that go bump in the night. Eren must’ve been looking through my book yesterday, freak. I roll my eyes at my roommates dorkiness and grab a pencil, flipping through the book to a blank page and sketching the lovely spirit in front of me.  
I’ve been drawing the ghosts whom I meet ever since I was able to hold a pencil. It was the only way I could deal with them when I was younger. Instead of trying to describe them to my parents and therapist, it was easier to draw them. It made them feel more real rather than the hallucination that everyone was trying to make them out to be. It helped me deal with them when I was younger. Back then, I didn’t have Armin to go to to help me get rid to them once they got too annoying. I just let them collect. Dead person after dead person. For a while I treated them like they were friends, I talked to them and played with them. It scared my parents shitless. I finally met Armin in high school and things started to change. It wasn’t easy though, I don’t like thinking about it much...  
The drawing only takes up an hour of the still dark morning. I make my final touches and look back up to my lady friend standing across from me. I quirk an eyebrow at her, “Wanna see?”  
She doesn’t move. Just standing there, hair all wisps and head tilted, unblinking, like she has been for the past hour. I sigh and spin the sketchbook around and push it across the counter so she can see it. I wait for her to lower her chin the two inches that it’ll take for her to see it but she still doesn’t move. I frown at her and stare back at her, “Whatever. You’re welcome, I made you beautiful,” I grunt at her. Still nothing.  
I nearly fall out of my chair at the sound of blasting rock music echoing from Eren’s room. I’ll never get over that kid’s alarm. I hear him growl a string of curses as he pounds at his bedside table eventually cutting off the ear splintering music. I stifle both a laugh and an eye roll as I hear him fall out of bed and stumble to his door, yanking it open and sloshing his way to the fridge mumbling something about morning shifts.  
“Mornin’ sunshine,” I chime. He growls at me without breaking eye contact with the fridge. His hair is a mess of cowlicks and his eyes squinty and small. He grumps his way around the kitchen, grabbing a whole mess of food that I’m still impressed he can manage to scarf down at the crack of dawn. He plops down next to me and begins mindlessly eating a blueberry muffin with his eyes closed.  
“When do you work till?” I ask nonchalantly, closing my sketchbook and sliding it away from Ghost Lady.  
“Two er somethin’,” he murmurs making no effort to open his eyes. I look down at him as he misses his mouth a few times with the muffin. This kid. “Why?”  
“I was thinking about going to Sullivan’s Island for a bit today, maybe see Armin,” I sigh standing and pouring myself another cup of cold coffee. I smile to myself because I know Eren understands what I mean when I say ‘Sullivan’s Island’ and ‘Armin’ in the same sentence.  
He perks up, eyes flying open and his spine stretching to a straight line. He turns impossibly fast to face me, “Ghosts?” His eyes shine with the same glimmer of excitement and curiosity that they do whenever we talk about the supernatural.  
I shrug, “Yeah, I mean, she’s been bothering me for like two weeks now. She’ll be better in Armin’s hands.”  
“Two weeks?” Eren coughs, “Two weeks there’s been a ghost here and you didn’t tell me?” This nerd. He gets so offended when I don’t tell him about ‘the ghost of the night.’  
“Dude. We live in Charleston, South Carolina, one of the oldest cities in America. There’s literally ghosts everywhere,” I say for the hundredth time to him.  
He rolls his eyes and picks a chunk out of his muffin. “Yeah, but I like it when you can see them,” he whines like a two year old.  
“Do you want to go to Armin’s with me or not?”  
He looks up from his crumpled mess, “Yes.”  
I nod and turn to go to my room and put on some clothes but Eren stops me. “Did you draw it?”  
“Just finished it.”  
“Show me show me show me,” Eren sputters as he searches the counter for my sketchbook.  
I sigh and flip it open for him to my most recent and lay it on the counter. Eren ooh’s and ahh’s under his breath. I roll my eyes. He looks up at me and lowers his voice, “Is she still here?”  
“Been here the whole time we’ve been talking,” I shrug making a little side look at Ghost Lady affirming that she’s still there. And yup, still looming creepily across from us.  
Eren smiles and bites his lip, his eyes flitting across our apartment, “Tell me where,” he whispers.  
I lay my hand flat on the stop of his head, matting his fuzzy cowlicks, and turn him to look at the ghost only two feet across from us. He literally vibrates with excitement and stretches an arm out, waving obnoxiously, trying to feel her. I watch as Eren’s hand easily passes through her, neither of them notice a difference. See, if I were to try and touch her, both her and I would actually feel it. I could also hear her if she tried to talk, I know she can hear me too but I don’t think she’s strong enough to react, she can’t even blink. But with everyone else, they can’t see, hear, or touch most spirits. Unless the ghosts is extremely powerful (those are the ones you hear the horror stories about.)  
“Am I touching her?” Eren asks as his hand wiggles between her breast and shoulder.  
“Oh you’re touching her alright,” I sigh, moving back around him to go back to my room.  
“Cool,” I hear him coo. This dork.  
-  
As I wait for Eren to get home from work I do a little writing session. I have a blog where I write ghost stories about the spirits who visit me. My readers don’t know that I can actually see ghosts, they just think I’m weirdly creative. In reality, I just conjure up a story for my nightly visitor that I think would suit them. Sometimes, more powerful spirits are able to whisper out small little details about their past life that I’m able to incorporate into their story. I feel like it’s a good way to honor them. Plus I get paid for it.  
I write about my lady friend, donning her as Mary-Elle, who lived a life sitting on the sidelines, watching the world age, living in the shadows and keeping to herself. Until she finally decides to do something with her life and meet someone. Someone she wants to marry. On her first outing with a man, he murders her. Leaving her beaten and broken in an alleyway, left with the only regret that she should’ve stayed home.  
Yep, these freaks will eat that shit up.  
I complete a rough draft before Eren gets back and decide that I’ll finish and post it later. I read out loud what I have to Ghost Lady as she stands beside me, the glow of my laptop doing nothing to lightener her in anyway. It’s always so weird seeing light pass through spirits, they’re invisible even to the sun.  
I get bored enough that I leave before Eren gets back. I leave him an assholeish note on the fridge saying that he’ll have to meet me there. Besides, drives with Eren are a kind of torture I can only endure a few times a month, and I’m pretty sure we carpooled into town two weeks ago so I think I’m good.  
As I drive across a futuristic bridge that some people call ‘The Two Knuckles” to Mount Pleasant. Armin only lives around twenty minutes away and the view is always nice, so I don’t mind it. I also kind of like driving, it’s usually the only time I can get alone. I mean, without any ghosts or anything. Usually they stay behind during my drive, eventually catching up with me after about an hour, always finding me. Even Glenn can’t keep up, but I’ll catch him in my peripheral vision sometime. That is, until I let him Move On. Which I don’t even know if animals can do. Knowing Armin he probably has some way to get pets to heaven.  
I drive down to the border. Passing massive acres of swamp. Just flat grassy plains that no one can really build on. The bright South Carolina sun lights up the fields and create this vibrant green that you can’t find anywhere else. I mean, I say that because I’ve never ventured to far from Charleston. I’ve been here all of my life. You’d think I’d move after learning that it’s one of the most haunted cities in America, but I like it too much, it’s home.  
Armin lives on the beach. Sullivan’s Island is a private beach so most tourists don’t bother people here. It’s beautiful. Armin’s house looks over the sparkling water and soaks in the sunlight. This kid’s house is huge. Like, this-should-be-in-a-movie-  
because-it’s-so-big, huge. I mean, the guy is crazy rich, guess he kind of deserves a big house. Whatever, I’m still jealous everytime I come over.  
If me drooling over the thing doesn’t give you a clue to how spectacular it is, Armin’s house is gated, like, Victorian curved iron gate’s that are electronically activated. (And yes, his gates are iron because it wards away spirits.)  
I pull up to the intercom and push the call button. It rings for a little until a cheery voice leaps out of the speaker, “Arlert residence, do you have an appointment?”  
“Hey Mina, it’s Jean, Armin doesn’t know I’m coming,” I say back to the speaker.  
“No problem! He’s just finishing up a call, come on in,” Mina’s voice chimes as a loud buzzing sound releases the gates.  
I roll down the paved driveway that takes me to a miniature parking lot at the side of his house. (Yes he has a fucking parking lot.) And I stride up to his grand front door. It’s an arched opening with glass tiles that turn into light’s at night. There are four tall white columns that frame his front porch that is adorned with a homey swing seat and a circular glass table with metal framed chairs. I still feel like I’m meeting the Queen every time I’m here.  
I ring the doorbell and wait awkwardly with my hands in my pockets and try to nonchalantly look around for one of my ghost friends to pop up. The door swings open to a smiley Mina. Always smiley.  
“Hey Jean! Come in, come in,” she says as she steps aside. I smile at her and shuffle inside, thankful for the air conditioning. “Armin’s in the study with Harvard, he said he’d be finished around one so you’re good to mosey about until he’s out,” she nods. I smile at her for using the word ‘mosey.’  
“Thanks, I’ll probably go to the library,” I say scratching my ribs.  
“Sounds good, I’ll let him know.” And she’s off with her next chore in line. Mina’s pretty cool. She works for Armin as his receptionist/housekeeper. She was actually one of Armin’s clients back in the day. She was in a really shitty situation and Armin offered her a job as a way out of it, and she’s been here ever since.  
Oh right, Armin’s job. Honest to God, I really don’t know what this guy does. I do know that he has like four different PhD’s, and the incentive and courage to do just about anything. I don’t really know what he sees clients for, sometimes they’re cases like mine, but others he just like a therapist to. Although he’s written, like, a half a dozen books on varying smartsy topics that I’ve never gotten around to reading.  
The one thing that I know he’s special for; is his religion knowledge. He knows literally everything about almost every single religion out there. Plus he has a hobby of researching folklore and ancient legends. So all this knowledge he’s collected makes him a pretty good outlet for identifying what is what. On the side, I know he secretly dabbles about the dark arts and a little alchemy, but he doesn’t really like telling people that.  
I walk the museum of a house to the library, my favorite room in the house. Armin has books you didn’t even know were a thing until you’ve dug hard enough. He has books imported from all kind of countries, including Spain, Greece, and Egypt. He has stuff written in dead languages and scrolls from hundreds of years ago. Just the smell of this damn room makes me want to break into a Beauty and the Beast song.  
Armin may be rich as fuck, but he’s one of the most humble people I know. When he started building the house six years ago (he was only nineteen) he said that it was still a home he was creating, not a castle. So despite all the marble, arched ceilings, modern artwork, and intricate chandeliers, he still walks the house barefoot. Even when he’s meeting his clients. He encourages people to do the same when they come in. His mahogany floors are lined with beautiful rugs and the urge to sink your toes into them is hard to overcome for most people. I never do though, I always like keeping my shoes on, just in case.  
The library is in a long semi circle shape, kind of like a rectangle with a rounded end. The farthest end is the rounded part of the room and it has a loft-like second floor that’s a nice reading place. As soon as I walk into the room, I connect to the bluetooth speakers. Despite Armin’s colonial and victorian style, he’s got a bunch of cool technology that only rich fucks like him can afford. Sometimes I secretly think he’s Bruce Wayne. I scroll through my spotify and play some Rolling Stones. Although I can’t turn it up all the way, Armin has a set volume for the library, because yes, it’s still a library.  
I stroll around the room, trailing my finger along the books lined on the walls, Paint it Black humming through invisible speakers. I make my way to the farthest point of the room where there is a bookshelf that can be pulled out like a door revealing another locked mahogany door. It’s Armin’s secret stash of dark magic books. The kind of books you can’t just have laying around for someone to flip through. Only a choice few know that this room is here. And yet, I don’t even have the fucking passcode.  
I’ve been in the room a few times with Armin, sometimes Levi, in special cases. Armin only uses the books whenever he needs to, he’s not one to through that kind of power around.  
“The only reason you don’t have the passcode is because you’re an idiot,” a voice say behind me. Ah, just who I was looking for.  
“Beautiful Mrs. Arlert, how are you doing this fine morning?” I say, turning and closing the bookshelf-door, giving her my most charming asshole of a smile.  
Annie stands there with a book in her hand and a dead stare in her eyes. Always unfazed. How is she always so unfazed?  
“It’s one thirty,” she huffs, sliding her book onto a shelf, “And my last name is not Arlert.”  
“Ah, but soon shall we see,” I hum, striding past her, “And I will get that passcode one day, just you wait.”  
She stands there and sighs, “Not from Armin you won’t, he thinks you’re too irresponsible and flighty.”  
“He didn’t say-”  
“I read him,” she grunts, “And he’s too nice to tell you that.”  
I pause to process, “Touche.”  
Annie and I go way back. I knew her even before Armin did. We were psycho shits together. We met at my therapist's office when I was first starting out. At first, she never talked to me, I would just babble on to her about useless shit in nervousness. The reason why Annie was there? Well, I’m glad you asked. Annie’s a telepath. She can fucking read people's minds. And on good days, she can talk to you in your head. It’s fucking wicked.  
Her gift is way cooler than mine. I’m just traumatized by dead people, but she can actually get inside people’s heads. So cool. I introduced her to Armin in high school after Armin and I got deep about my problem. And since he helped me with mine, I thought he could help her with hers. They’ve been together ever since. I’m a true match maker.  
“You’re an idiot,” Annie sighs turning and making an exit from the library.  
She secretly loves me.  
“No I don’t,” I hear her mumble from the doorway.  
I smile to myself and continue to scan the walls of books. I do like Annie though. I have an odd bond with her because she is the only person who can actually see what I see. One time, me, Annie, and Armin did a little experiment to test Annie’s abilities. Armin had given her a weird green smoothie to drink and was able to have her get into my head and look through my eyes. Annie was able to see things how I saw them. Them, as in, ghosts. Armin had asked me, for the experiment, to keep around as many spirits as I could for a month so it would be easier for Annie to see them. It sucked, and by that time I had like six different spirits watching my every move, but it worked. Annie saw them all. She sat there with her eyes closed, looking at the ghosts as I was. She described them just to be sure. Although, after sitting there for twenty minutes surrounded by ghosts, she backed out and was on the verge of tears. She calmly left the room, trying to cover up her shakiness, leaving a message for me buzzing through my head: “I’m sorry.” I knew it wasn’t because she left, it was for what I had to deal with all the time. I think since then, she’s been able to tolerate me a little more. Out of pity? Maybe. But I don’t care. She’s one person I’d like to have on my rag tag team of superheros.  
Annie stays here with Armin most of the time. Sometimes she goes on these mysterious trips with her two friends Reiner and Bertholdt. But for the most part she likes to be with Armin.  
Speaking of-  
“Do you listen to anything besides 80’s rock?” Armin says as he skips through the library. His hair half tied up and his bare feet poking out of his cuffed jeans. A kind smile as always.  
“Stones are 70’s, genius,” I snort. One of the things Armin knows nothing about: good music. This kid’s taste is about as good as a grandma in the fifties. I guess you have to sacrifice something for knowing everything else.  
“So is your clothing style, but I’ll let it slide,” Armin jokes, standing in front of me with his hands on his hips and a dumb grin on his face.  
“Shut up, John Lennon wannabe,” I shoot back at him. The joke goes over his head so we both decide to drop it.  
Armin already knows why I’m here, so he instinctively leads me back to the Holy room. Yeah, remember how I mentioned how Armin knows almost everything about religion? He has a whole room dedicated to a bunch of them. A lot of the time, his more faithful clients will come in here to think things through. The reason I use it? To get rid of spirits that are trailing my ass.  
Thankfully, there isn’t anyone in here that Armin has to kindly kick out. If some of these people find out what we do, they’ll probably have a midlife crisis questioning their entire faith. Plus, it kind of sucks to watch what happens.  
At least I’m able to actually step in the room, always a good sign. Sometimes, the spirits that hang at my heels are...evil? I literally won’t be able to walk into the room, every time I do, I’m physically pulled back by the spirit. From that point Armin has to improvise.  
The room is actually beautiful. I don’t know why I’m always so surprised, but I’m not particularly religious so I always feel like I don’t belong in this room. The entire far wall is stained glass in the landscape of a field of irises. Armin’s a dork and used a field of irises as a symbol for an abundance of wisdom, faith, hope, and purity. He thinks these attributes are enough to cleanse anyone of their sins. Purples, blues, and yellows pop in front of the green grass. A white sun reciprocating the same light that shines through it onto the flowers. Tiny intricate shards reflect the light in different ways, illuminating the room in an abundance of colors. One side of the room is lined with wooden pews, the other is little green floor sitting pillows. The main aisle leads to a platform that has no podium, only more stuffed chairs. Again, this room is meant to be religion neutral, there’s no crosses or stars of David or little buddha's sitting anywhere. If people come here to worship, they’re allowed to bring whatever need to do so, Armin won’t supply it. He said it extinguishes favoritism.  
I mindlessly make my way to the front platform and sit in the safe comfy chair that I always do, waiting for my lady ghost friend to show up.  
“So who is it this time Jean? Battle broken civil war soldier, hopeless driven college student, chemical plant explosion?” Armin says as he pads up to the platform beside me.  
I snort. “You’ve got to stop reading my shit,” I mumble. “This time she’s a first date murder.”  
Armin nods, going to his personal bookshelf on the side wall of the platform. He takes a few books, ones I’ve seen many times before, and sets them on a side table to the chair across from mine. I don’t know why he always takes out the books, he’s got the most used ones memorized by now, guess it’s just habit.  
He shrugs, “I like reading your stuff, I don’t get to read that much fiction, and your once a week stories are a nice little read.”  
“Sure,” I grunt scratching my stubbly jaw. “So how are you and Annie?”  
Armin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Oh y’know, I’ve only asked her to marry me, like, four times now. I guess I’ll just let her come to me when she’s ready.”  
Poor kid. He’s so in love with her. Has been since the moment he laid eyes on her. Annie? Not so much. I give him the most encouraging smile I can muster, “It’ll happen, she does love you, you know.”  
“I know I know, I just…” he looks down at his hands, “Don’t want her to be scared anymore.”  
I nod, not really knowing what else to say. I may have set them up in the first place, but I got no advice when it comes to the real relationship stuff. No way. I’ve only ever been in one relationship that lasted more than two weeks, which still ended tragically. I’m really not the relationship type. Especially when I’m constantly followed by ‘people’ on a regular basis, I kind of like alone time whenever I can get it.  
“Why don’t you ask out Eren?” Armin says with the most innocent and curious voice, a total bluff for him knowing exactly what he’s doing. My face boils red and my heart skips a beat. I hate him. I can’t believe he keeps bringing this up.  
“I. Don’t. Like. Him.” I spit. I mean, seriously? I told Armin that Eren and I have hooked up a few times, so what? Doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.  
Armin puts his hands up in defense, “Okay okay, I won’t budge.” I just glare at him and cross my arms, making my best to pout like a grown man.  
I tense as I feel that weird clutch in my chest, I take a quick scan of the room, and there she is. For the first time since appeared to me, she’s not looking at me, she’s standing in front of the stained glass, totally engrossed by the beautiful scenery. Her faded silhouette in the bright light makes her look softer. I take a moment to look at her so curious.  
“Is she here?” Armin whispers. I exhale and let the clutch in my chest release.  
“Yeah, over there,” I nod, pointing him to the bottom right corner of the window. He looks over and just hums, I know he can’t see her, but I think knowing where she is in the room helps him with his process.  
“I’ll lock the door,” Armin mumbles as he bounces up to the front door. The room is actually lined with iron, pure salt, and a protection sigil behind the drywall. The perfect recipe to keeping spirits out or in. In most cases we have to wait for my ghosty ghost to catch up to me to close the door, because after that, they’re stuck. “You ready?” Armin asks as he walks back up to the platform grabbing a rosary and flipping a bible open.  
“Yeah,” I sigh, standing with him. A fleeting thought of Eren wanting to come leaves my brain after Armin begins to talk in latin under his breath.  
Armin always starts with the Christian route to helping spirits passing on, only for the logical fact that Christianity is the most popular religion in the world. And if that doesn’t work, Armin has a few tricks up his sleeves to get them to where they need to go.  
During the process, I always have to be ready to hold the spirit down. Sometimes they don’t want to move on or maybe they’re malicious. Many times, spirits have tried to attack Armin and I’m the only one that can physically hold them back. I guess it’s another ability that comes along with the whole seeing-ghosts thing, is that I can actually touch them too.  
Ghost Lady doesn’t do anything as Armin recites his Christian verses. That either means she’s unaffected by it or willing. His voice gets louder as the more powerful parts come along. At this, she slowly turns her head and looks at me. The clutch in my chest rises to my throat as I see tears fall down her cheeks.  
The nasty part of this whole ordeal, is that when a spirit starts following me around, they’ve connected a part of themselves to me, and the bond has to be broken. It’s usually always painful for the both of us. Our souls being separated by the latin words of Christianity. She looks at me, turning away from the beautiful glass, and cries.  
I watch her as she clutches at her throat and sinks to her knees, breathy gasps escaping her lips. My heart wells with her same pain and I drag my feet to her, the overwhelming need to comfort her overbearing.  
I kneel in front of her, offering a trembling hand. After a moment of silent contemplation she takes it. Her hand feels light but her strength is powerful. It’s always an odd feeling that I haven’t really gotten used to, you know, touching a spirit. It’s a trespass on the boundary between life and death, it just always feels...wrong.  
“You’re going to be okay,” I whisper to her, trying to sound convincing, “All you need to do is, let go.” She looks at me with fearful eyes, trying to find a reason to stay. I hold her hand until her expression falls. Some spirits are easier to persuade than others, and she doesn’t seem to be putting up a fight. She lets go of my hand, stands on her own, and looks down at me. I can’t really do anything about the pain now, I feel like someone is trying to rip my lungs out of me. It’s always the same.  
I wheeze and try to still look convincing for her. She’s no longer crying or in pain, she’s ready. The only thing she needs is for Armin to finish the verse.  
And just as her souls is about to fade to a ball of shimmering light, the world goes dark.  
A plunging glup of burning and fire fly through Mary-Elle and I’s mouths and down our spines, we both collapse on the floor. I’ve told Armin that he should never stop the verse once he starts it, no matter what matter what happens to me, he has to finish it.  
But something’s wrong. Something is very wrong.  
I’m trying to scream around the burning fireworks in my chest and stomach, pulling myself into the fetus position in struggling efforts to ease the pain.  
There’s a pounding in my head and it feels like the ground is shaking. I hear Armin yelling the verse, his latin fluent and strong. The burning gets worse and I can hear Mary-Elle start to scream.  
I blearily look up at Armin, the light nearly extinguished by a horrifying darkness at surrounds us. He’s looks scared, but he’s still using all the power he has to move Mary-Elle’s soul to the next life. He’s having to grip onto the headrest of a chair against the trembling ground. Who the hell is this girl?  
Just as I’m about the try and go back to her, Armin’s bible and rosary are ripped from his hands and flung behind him. He keeps yelling the memorized verse looking at the stained glass as the darkness grows thicker.  
What’s happening?  
I’m screaming and wheezing through burning and breathlessness when I hear Armin shout my name. My heart sinks knowing that he’s just broke the verse, and in that instant, I’m flipped onto my back from an insane amount of strength from nowhere. I gape at the thin air above me, struggling to breathe.  
Then, she’s there.  
Mary-Elle, three times her size, grinning down at me with pitch black eyes. She moves her giant foot above me, stepping down on my torso, crushing me for all I’m worth. I cry out for Armin, knowing he can’t really do anything, but I’m pretty aware that I’m about to die and I really don’t want to be alone.  
She bends down to me, her giant grinning mouth only a foot away from my face, “Fall. The living will be mine.” Her voice gurgles and and slurs making me want to puke.  
I’m going to die.  
She’s going to crush me.  
There’s nothing more I can do.  
“You don’t have to do this!” I scream with all I’ve got, which is not much, “Let go!” It’s the last effort I have before my life is squeezed out of me. I don’t say it for her to release me, I say it to remind her that she can still move on, that there’s still hope.  
For some holy reason, it works.  
She tilts her head, he expression falling to the same scared girl I saw when she started to be ripped from me. She lifts her crushing foot and her skin fades like burning ash until she’s back to her normal size.  
She looks at me, lying broken on the ground, and falls to tears beside me again. She rests a hand on my forehead and whispers to me through hiccuping sobs, “Beware him, he is coming to reclaim his rightful place on Earth.”  
Having no fucking clue what she’s talking about, I try to wheeze out a question, nothing comes.  
“Find Marco Bodt, he will lead the way to safety.”  
She pauses to wipe her cheek.  
“Save us all, Jean Kirstein.”  
She stands and steps away, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes full of fear. I roll onto my side to try and reach her for some reason. I need her to explain more.  
“Forgive me.”  
She stretches her hand out to me and I reach to take it. But the thick black fog rolls through the glass window behind her and she lets out a blood curtling scream. The fog forms a hand and swoops down a runs right through her, she disappears in the smoke. Her scream echoes through the room and seems to get louder and louder until the entire glass window shatters into million of pieces. The fog and scream recede, thinning away, revealing only a sunny beach front that’s Armin’s back yard.  
What just happened?  
Who was she?  
Where’s Armin?  
Am I alive?  
I close my eyes and let the bright South Carolina sun fade to wretched darkness.


	2. Hold My Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't say this earlier, but I will be updating this story every Saturday with a new chapter. I don't really know how many chapters its going to be but I've got it mostly plotted out, so crossing my fingers it's not gonna end up thirty chapters long.   
> So yeah, now enjoy watching Jean get the shit beat out of him...again.   
> xx

I’m impossibly sure that I’m dead.   
It was either the burning throat, the crushing giant, or the shattering glass.   
Doesn’t matter. I’m dead. 

“He thinks he’s dead.”  
“Jean?” 

Are Annie and Armin dead too?  
Did the entire house blow up or something?  
Are we in Ghostland?

“Stop being overdramatic, you’re alive, idiot.”  
I crack open an eye and see two blonde heads hovering over me.   
Ugh. I am alive.   
“He’s fine Armin, don’t worry about him so much.” With that, a blonde head recedes and I can finally see Armin’s concerned face.   
“Hey, you okay?” He says sitting back a bit and leaning on the edge of the bed I’m lying on.   
I look around, I’m in a moderate sized room, there’s barely any light, but I assume it’s one of Armin’s guest rooms. It looks familiar to the one I usually stay in whenever I stay over at Armin’s house. I grunt as I try to sit up, but a shooting pain in my chest forces me back down.  
“Whoa whoa, easy there, that thing did quite a number on you,” Armin says holding me down at my shoulder.   
I swallow and try to remember what that thing was, it’s probably not a good sign if Armin doesn’t even know. My soul gives that same throbbing ache that it does whenever a spirit and I are separated. At least the burning is gone, I’m assuming I’m left with a bunch of broken ribs for almost being crushed to death.   
“Do you...remember anything?” Armin asks in a hushed voice. I close my eyes to try and ease the pounding in my head, not really wanting to look back on what just happened. The images of the memories flash through my head without consent.   
“Too much,” I mutter. There’s an odd silence between the two of us. I wonder how much Armin actually saw, I assume he saw the darkness and the window shatter, but did he see Her?   
“We can talk about it later,” he sighs looking down at his hands. Armin clears his throat and stands. “Well, uh, Mikasa said she could fix you up, I hope that’s okay.”  
Great. Just to make my day even better.   
The Ex.   
I let out a strangled sigh and nod to give Armin the go ahead. He’s knows I’m not happy about seeing her, and she probably won’t be happy to see me either, but she’s a good healer. A really good one. And I kind of want to get out of this bed and figure what the hell happened with Mary-Elle.  
Armin nods once and limps out of the room. Fuck, he must’ve gotten hurt too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got thrown across the room or something. With how powerful that spirit was, he could’ve even been possessed. Highly unlikely though.   
I let myself fall into a light sleep while I’m waiting for Mikasa. Pictures from earlier fly through my brain. Mary-Elle crying, Armin’s verse, the burning, the giant, the smoke, the window. The memories are like a punch to my gut. I feel a weird sense of guilt and anxiety for everything that happened. Guilt for bringing whatever that was into Armin’s house, and anxiety for whatever comes next.   
A trembling whisper echoes through my head.  
Forgive me.  
Mary-Elle, she was saying something before the smoke swallowed her up. She spoke to me through tears and fear.   
What did she say?  
I think back through everything that happened after the giant faded away. She was telling me to be safe or something? She said my name. She said someone else’s name.  
The thinking is making the pounding in my head worse, so I give up on it for the moment. The anxiety of what Mary-Elle might’ve said making my heart thrum unnaturally.   
Then, there’s a soft knock at the door, and Mikasa steps through the threshold. I forget about ghosts and monsters and anxiety for a moment to just remember her. What we had, who we were.   
My heart wells with the same feeling of contradicting love and loss that happens whenever I see Mikasa. It was three years ago and I still feel the same emptiness she left me when we broke up everytime she walks in the room.   
She steps quietly to the bedside and sets down her bag. She then goes to open the curtains of the floor to ceiling windows. The light she lets in is miniscule but it still sets my retinas on fire. Even though I know groaning in pain won’t change Mikasa’s mind, I do it anyway.  
She comes back to me on the bed and goes to work without acknowledging that it’s me whom she’s dealing with. She checks my eyes, throat, shoulders, chest and ribs, before either of us say a word. Her hands on me like a ghost of a memory to when her touch felt loving.   
She turns to dig through her bag and pulls out a little aluminum jar.  
“Mikasa,” I croak. Her silence is killing me. I want to hear her voice, I want her to say my name. She continues to work without acknowledging me, unscrewing the metal cap and setting it aside. She dips two fingers into the jar and starts rubbing the translucent cream onto my exposed chest.   
“Mikasa,” I say a bit louder. Her movements are harsh and uncaring to the pain I may be feeling. It’s not out of spite though, that’s just how she is. Even when we were together and had to heal me she was just as rough.   
“Mika-FUCK!” A blazing heat of pain seeps into my chest where she put the cream. Mikasa is whispering in a weird dead language that only healers know, activating the cream. She grips me at my elbows as she continues to whisper, holding me down against the unforgiving pain. It seeps through my skin and muscle to the bone, making sickly popping and cracking noises as my bones are being magically moved to their original places. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to get this done, but the pain is still so surprising to me. I’ve tried to tell Mikasa that she should give people some sort of numbing before she does things like this, she said that it was a stupid idea.   
It doesn’t take long for the bones to be mended by the cream and Mikasa’s words, but by the end I feel like I’ve just ran a marathon through flames. The pain recedes after the mending is done, the cream evaporated from my skin. Mikasa screws the lid back onto the little jar and tosses it into her bag.   
I lay here, covered in sweat and trying to catch my breath from holding it in against the pain, as Mikasa digs back through her bags like what she just did was nothing.   
“Mi-kasa,” I huff out, still desperate for her attention. She ignores me, digging through her bag until she plucks out a vial with an odd thick purple liquid in it. She turns back to me and grabs my jaw, prying my mouth open with her freakishly strong hands. She’s about to dump the mysterious gooey mixture that kind of smells like ass into my mouth when I knock her hand away. “Mikasa!”   
She recovers the vial quickly, only losing her balance for a moment and turns back to me, her face an emotionless scowl. I don’t know how you can be emotionless and scowling at the same time, but Mikasa manages to use it on a daily basis.   
“It’s for your throat,” she says, restraint evident in the way she’s holding her shoulders. For the first time since she’s walked into the room, she’s actually looking at me. I have the weird fluttering in my stomach as she does so.   
I look at her, long silky black hair draped over her shoulder, her eyes like a light through the fog, her porcelain skin that never seems to age. That last one could be taken quite literally. Healers are essentially immortal. They don’t really age once they’ve hit their prime adult years and their biology’s immune system is impenetrable. So the only way healers can die, is if they’re killed. My stomach sinks at the thought of Mikasa getting hurt by someone.   
She gets tired of my oogling and moves to yank my jaw open to stuff the liquid down my throat. I cut her off again, my chest is still omitting a throbbing pain every time I move so I can only use my arms to try and get to her.   
“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” I mutter grabbing her empty forearm, “I just...hi?”   
She raises an eyebrow at my effort to say something remotely human. Ignoring me again, she pulls away from my grasp and slaps a palm to my forehead, rendering me pretty much useless.   
“Mikasa-Mikasa, wawait wait,” I sputter pulling against her. She huffs a short breath of air and stands back, jutting her hip out in annoyance.   
“Just let me do my job, Jean,” she sighs probably itching to give me a good punch in the face.   
“I know I’m sorry, I just...can’t you say hello?” I ask pathetically. I hate when I get like this: a whiney little prepubescent form of my past self, useless when it comes to words and hot girls.   
“We don’t have time for this, they need you to talk to Annie, they said you saw something,” she says trying to motivate me to shut up. I sigh and continue to look at her, noticing the way her subtle brown eyes glint in the minimal light.   
“Okay,” I whisper giving into her demands. I lean back and let her crack open my jaw and pour the ass smelling purple goop down my throat. I expect it to taste like butt too, but it’s weirdly savory and chills my aching throat all the way to my stomach. With that, she pulls out another aluminum jar with a green lid, taking a dab of the white cream with her middle finger, and wipes it in little stripes over each cut I have from the shattered glass. The scrapes start to heal immediately after she puts on the cream, amazingly without any incantation of sorts.   
After she’s finished with the cream, she puts it back into her bag and tosses me a little white package with a tiny sphere in it.   
“What’s this?” I ask, fidgeting to get it open.   
“Mint,” she says as she cleans up the rest of her tools, “That stuff I gave you for your throat stinks.”   
“Oh.” I plop the mint into my mouth without hesitation.   
Mikasa stands and takes her bag, turning to me for the last time, “Come out when you’re ready, they’re waiting for you in the Study.” And she’s gone. I watch her walk away, all business, no attachments. She doesn’t sway when she walks like most other girls, she’s firm and determined, no room for looseness. Most people think she’s just got a stick up her butt, but I think it makes her mysterious. Whatever. I’m a romantic.   
I lay back and suck on my mint, it tastes pretty weird mixed with the purple savory stuff she gave me but it doesn’t matter. I think of Mikasa. I haven’t seen her in what-half a year? I’m pretty sure the last time I saw her she was trying to piece me back together from having to claw my way back from a rift in the dimensions. Yeah, that was a long day.  
I met Mikasa mostly through association. Armin and Levi knew each other and both Mikasa and I were kind of just their latch-on’s. Levi had saved Mikasa from her home when a bunch of witch hunters were going around and slaughtering all healers and witches. Although, Mikasa’s parents didn’t make it, so Levi kind of put it on himself to raise her, not really trusting that a normal human could help her grow right. Even though Levi isn’t a healer himself (he’s a witch/warlock, whatever) he still had the tools for her to teach herself and to keep her safe as she did so.   
They’re kind of the power team around here. They’re some of the only people who are actually trying to hone and use their gifts, when everyone else is trying to forget them. I wish I could use my ‘gift’ but, fuck, all I do is see dead people. Speaking of which, Glenn had found his rightful place swimming above my head. I’m kind of glad he’s here, he’s like that piece of jewelry you wear everyday, you feel complete when it’s there, and when it’s not, you feel oddly naked. Yeah, I guess that makes Glenn invisible jewelry.   
I groan as I sit up, the bones in my chest cracking, popping, and groaning with me. I let a wave of nausea pass as I stand up, my jeans are torn to shit and I’ve lost my shirt. I stumble over to the oversized wardrobe and hope to god there’s something that will fit me. And nope, empty as my bank account.   
I huff out a sigh and make an exit from the room to find Armin and try to snag a jacket or something off of him. Just as I open the door, a glare-eyed Eren is standing there.   
“Oh, hey man,” I say trying to act like I forgot to invite him to Armin and I’s ghost party. He raises an eyebrow and continues to glare, a tiny pout at his lips.   
“You left,” he whines in a short chopped way, much like a child. I roll my eyes, of course that’s the only thing he’s worried about. Not the fact that I almost died by being crushed to death from a twenty foot demon.   
“Oh I’m fine, thank you,” I muse trying to pass him and get to Armin.   
“Whatever asshole,” he spits shoving a lime green sweatshirt to my chest.   
“The fuck is this?” I say my chest giving a little throb of pain to Eren’s harshness.   
“Armin said you might need it,” he grumps again.   
I look down at the thing, I have a hard time convincing myself that it’s even meant for dudes. “Does he, uh, have anything else?” I ask trying to salvage some form of masculinity by not wearing a fucking lime green sweatshirt.  
“Would you rather go shirtless?” He sasses shoving the sweatshirt at me again.   
I groan and take the thing from his hand, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I hum with a quirk of an eyebrow.  
He rolls his eyes, “You wish.” I groan and shrug the sin over my head, looking down at the graphic on the front that says “I went to Charleston, South Carolina!” with an obnoxious neon yellow sun shining down on the rainbow words. Fuck Armin, seriously?   
“Come on, they’re downstairs,” Eren mumbles and leads me to the Study. My body still pops and groans with every step, it’ll be better in a few hours though, it’s just getting used to being broken and pieced back together in a matter of hours.   
We get to the Study and walk in without knocking. Armin is sitting at his mahogany desk, squinting at his computer as Annie looms over his shoulder, looking bored but she’s probably just reading Armin’s mind. Mikasa is sitting in one of the leather chairs in front of Armin’s desk looking out the giant paneled window on the far wall. This room is much like the Library, except smaller. Armin keeps his favorite books in here and has a bunch of pieces of art hanging from the walls, my favorite: a sculpture of Hecate in a corner, and few different chairs a couches scattered about the room.   
Armin looks up at us as we enter, trying to put up an encouraging smile. The rest of the room is tense, I mean, Annie and Mikasa are always tense but Armin has joined them.   
“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Armin asks, his eyes shifting back and forth from his computer screen and me.   
“Never been better,” I mutter shuffling to the chair next to Mikasa who doesn’t acknowledge me, again. Figures.   
“Right, well,” Armin starts tucking a strand of blonde hair behind his ear and turning to face me fully, “We, uh, need to figure out what happened, don’t you think?”   
“Yeah,” I shrug, not really knowing why everyone is so tense still. Wasn’t I the only one who saw anything?   
“Can you tell me what you saw?” Armin asks with genuine curiosity and a hint of a grimace. He sounds the same as he did back in high school, he’s always been a therapist for us haunted freaks. I look from him, to Annie and back to him.   
“What did you see?” I ask as a weird pit of anxiety makes it’s home in my gut. Armin looks down at his hands and back up to me, his expression dark and haunted.   
“Everything after she turned,” he whispers in a shaky sigh, his bright blue eyes growing dull and distant. He’s talking about Mary-Elle, how she turned into that giant demon thing. He saw me being crushed, her black eyes and slimey teeth, he heard me yell to her as she faded to her normal self and wept at my side, whispering the hauntings of a Him and to find someone who’s name I still can’t remember.   
“How?” I ask, still uncomfortable with looking back on what happened.  
“I don’t know,” he sighs running a hand down his face, “But she said something to you, didn’t she? I saw her talking but I couldn’t hear her,” he asks, his curiosity motivating him to be stronger.   
“I…” I’ve been having trouble remembering what she had said ever since I woke up, my head giving the familiar throb, “...I can’t remember.”   
Armin sighs and looks up at Annie. They have one of their mind conversations and Armin nods, turning back to me with a wary look in his eyes, “Do you mind if Annie does some digging?”  
I feel the ball of anxiety in my gut rise to my throat. I instinctively look at her, she looks unfazed again, but I can sense the same anxiety from her. The last time she did it, things did not go well. Neither of us had ever done it before and we got misdirected and spun into a horrible flash show of hidden memories and dark corners I never wanted to go back to.   
I look at her and think, How do you feel about this?  
She pins me with her burning eyes, He thinks it’s important.  
I look down at my hands and try to calm my nerves. I honestly don’t think she needs my permission to dig through my memories, Armin’s probably just being polite. So there really is no option, is there?   
I look up at them, anxiety probably oozing from every move I make. “Okay,” I sigh, “Just don’t let what happened last time happen again.”   
-  
Armin has me lay on a couch with my head propped up with a pillow. Annie is sitting behind me, waiting for Armin’s next instruction. I always find it so fascinating how willing Annie is to do something for him. When I first met her, she wouldn’t take shit from anyone, good or bad. Somehow Armin was able to make it past her carefully placed walls and a help her become a little less cold. Well, that is, only for him. She still thinks everyone else is out to get her.   
“Stop thinking about me, and focus on what happened,” Annie whispers in a demanding tone above my head.   
I fidget with my fingers and keep crossing and uncrossing my legs. “I’m nervous,” I shrug.  
“No shit,” she mumbles. Armin is reading from an ancient book about this sort of thing, preparing us as well as himself, reading some parts out loud that he thinks we should hear. Although, neither of us are paying much attention. “Just focus on the information that you forgot and stop worrying.”   
“Right, like I can think about something that I don’t remember, great plan,” I mutter crossing my arms. Mikasa and Eren are in the corner talking to each other. Mikasa, barely saying anything and staring out the window looking at the side gardens. Eren, jittering like he needs to pee and blabbing on about something as he keeps looking from me to her. I hate how they’re still friends. I have an overwhelming need to separate them. They met through me. When Mikasa and I were going out, I brought her to the apartment and her and Eren got along well. Then, I thought it was a good sign that my girlfriend liked my friends, but after we broke up, they continued to hang out. Without me. The familiar anger and jealously find its way to replace my anxiety. I don’t know if it’s better or worse.  
“Alright guys, I think we have everything,” Armin says as he shuffles back to Annie and I.   
Just focus, and let me do my job. Annie’s voice rings through my head. It doesn’t make me feel better.   
As Armin goes through what everything Annie is going to do and our whole goal of this plan, I’m distracted by Eren and Mikasa. They keep talking over there, like an actual conversation ignoring that we’re even here. Mikasa can’t even say hi to me but she seems perfectly content with Eren around. Mikasa turns to Eren, her hair shining from the sun through the window, her eyes lit up with genuine emotion, she even smiles.   
Annie grabs my head at my temples and sends another message to my mind, Close your eyes. Forget about them, there are more important things, Jean.   
I close my eyes and start to panic because I was totally not listening to Armin. I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes.   
Just think about Mary-Elle, I’ll do the rest.  
Mary-Elle. Right. What she was saying to me as I was lying broken on the platform in the Holy Room. She was crying, scared. She spoke to me in whispers, as if what she was telling me was a secret.   
Annie’s fingers start burn at my scalp. I can feel her presence looming into my memories like another ghost. She’s watching the memories that flick through my head, waiting to catch the ones I’ve forgotten. I let her in, I replay the memories for her as if I’m reading her a book or showing her a movie.   
Right after Mary-Elle faded from her giant form, she bent by my side. Saying something…  
“Beware him.” I hear from miles away. It’s Annie’s voice but it’s all echoed and warped, like she’s underwater. “He is coming to reclaim his rightful place on Earth.”   
As I hear these words, I see them coming from Mary-Elle’s mouth, just like I’m reliving the memory all over again. She looks so scared, so tired. Her long dark hair hangs in her face as she brushes away her tears. Her hair. Almost as dark as Mikasa’s.   
Mikasa.   
Jean.  
Mary-Elle’s face warps and twists, breathing color to her skin and clothes, leaving her porcelain yet human. It’s Mikasa, standing beside me in bed, wiping cream over my scrapes and cuts.   
I blink, then I see her laying down, next to me, in my bed. She’s asleep, her silky hair spilling over my white pillows. The morning sun softly caresses her skin, making her look so peaceful. I can feel her soft breaths rhythmically on my lips, I can smell her perfume that’s like cherry blossoms and cinnamon.   
I go to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but something viscously yanks at my arm, nearly ripping me out of bed.   
Forget her!   
“I don’t love you anymore.” The words pull me to Point Gardens. We’re sitting on a bench looking through giant twisting oak trees out to the open ocean. Sun shines through the leaves of the trees, casting a pattern-like shadow over Mikasa’s face.   
My heart weighs heavy with the guilt of letting our love fall apart. I knew Mikasa had been pulling away for weeks, and I didn’t do anything about it. I can’t force her to love me, but I can’t let her go, I still love her.   
I try to reach out to her, pleading for a second chance, hoping that she’ll see what we had is worth trying again. But my protests are silent and I can’t touch her. She’s gone. There’s nothing else let for me to do or say. Once Mikasa’s made up her mind, it’s over.   
I sit alone at the park bench, spirits around me can feel my overwhelming emotion running through me, they’re attracted to it. Unfortunately Point Gardens is actually an old field where they used to hang Pirates and bury them in the mud by the sea. My soul is so torn, it’s so easy to take hold of. Within minutes, I’m surrounded by them. Old Pirates, Civil War soldiers, ordinary people, all spirits ready to take hold of my soul and never let go. I let them each take a piece of me. Maybe they can get rid of this Mikasa sized hole in my heart.   
Let go, Jean!  
I can’t. She’s gone and it’s all my fault.   
A familiar blazing burning sensation is casted down my throat, it reminds me of the Holy room, with Armin and Mary-Elle. Right, I’m supposed to be thinking about Mary-Elle, but I can’t seem to make my way back to her memory, I’m still stuck here on this bench surrounded by spirits munching on parts of my soul. Through the crowds of ghosts, I see Annie fighting her way through the semi-transparent figures, punting them out of my memory. She makes her way to me, out of breath but determined. She grabs the front of my shirt in her fist and yanks me off the bench. Dragging me mercilessly through the park to the edge, looking down at the ocean. Annie steps up to cliff, pulling me with her. I try to resist her pull, knowing what she’s about to do.  
“Annie-” She cuts me off by taking the back of my neck and thrusting me off the edge, plummeting for the water. I don’t even have time to scream when I open my eyes see Mary-Elle kneeling next to Annie lying on the ground, broken. Mary-Elle is speaking to Annie, trembling and afraid. It’s like Annie has taken my spot in the memory. I can’t hear her soft sobs. I can’t hear anything.   
Mary-Elle stands back up and backs away from Annie on the floor. The spirit reaches out and lets out a wailing scream that I can hear perfectly ringing through the walls. The black fog forms it’s arm and wipes Mary-Elle away, letting the howl shatter Armin’s symbol of redemption.   
I wake up wheezing and feeling like I’m on fire. I thrash to get up but Mikasa forces me back down. She’s sitting above me, wiping something on my forehead, whispering in her ancient language. She takes a white stick about as long as my finger and snaps it under my nose.  
“Breath in,” she says. I do, inhaling the eucalyptus smelling fumes. My heart starts to calm and my panic eases. I try to take even deep breaths to get me back to normal. Mikasa watches my eyes as I continue to calm down, something tells her that I’ll be fine, so she stands and leaves my side.   
I watch her walk to Armin’s desk where Annie is sitting in one of the leather chairs with Armin kneeling down in front of her and resting his hands on her knees as she speaks to him. Mikasa hands Annie a couple tiny blue balls, to which Annie refuses. Mikasa then turns and gives them to Armin, who nods her a thanks.   
Did we do it? Did she find what I’d forgotten? I have no idea. But for now, I just need to forget everything I just re-saw. I close my eyes and try to focus on anything besides Annie, or Mary-Elle, or Mikasa.   
I feel someone bounce on the couch beside my legs, I open an eye to see Eren looking at me with pity. Ugh, hate that. At least he’s not mad at me anymore.  
“Hey,” he says when he notices that I’m not asleep. I shamefully feel better now that someone’s here. Unfortunately it has to be Eren, but it’s nice to have at least someone comforting me too.   
“Hey,” I croak, my voice feeling oddly sore for some reason.   
“You okay?” He kind of winces as he says this, as in, I’m probably not okay. I contemplate on what to say. I don’t want to be a whiney little bitch complaining that I’m not okay and that seeing those memories really did fuck me up, but I don’t want to be alone and I kind of want some comforting.   
Eren scoots further up the couch as I hesitate, now sitting up by my torso. I look at him as he waits, he still has that pitiful look on his face, I kind of want to smack it off him.   
“Don’t be weird about this,” I grunt as I take one of his free hands resting in his lap into mine. He blushes a bit but doesn’t pull away, just kind of letting me hold his hand. I sigh and let my eyes fall closed again, trying to focus on Eren’s hand rather than any unwanted memories.   
“Do you want to talk about it?” I kind of laugh at how Eren’s voice is awkward and restrained, he’s not much of the comforting type. I just shake my head and save us both the trouble.   
I look up at him and he’s staring shamefully down at our hands, I snort as his flustering innocence and give his hand a squeeze. “What did you see?”  
I look up with his vibrant green eyes. “Oh, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “You were, um, screaming a lot and Annie was yelling for you to ‘let go,’ then you started breathing weird and both of your guys eyes turned white. Annie said something about ‘beware this dude he’s coming to earth’ and to ‘find Marco Polo,’ after that Annie, like, ripped away from you and Armin carried her over to his chair and she was trying not to cry, and you went into this seizure thing that Mikasa had to dump a bunch of crap on you for.” Leave it to Eren to explain something that makes no fucking sense. I just nod at him and try to forget how much it must’ve hurt Annie as well.   
But Eren said a name, that name that I was forgetting. Marco something. It’s obviously not Marco Polo like Eren thinks, well at least I hope not. Marco did sound familiar though.   
Eren and I sit in silence for a while, the only sound in the room is the hushed murmurings coming from Armin and Annie. I watch Glenn hover over my head to help center me.   
I start to doze off with Eren next to me, still holding my hand, but Armin comes over and clears his throat. I blearily look up as him, he looks fucking terrible. He’s as white as a sheet, his eyes staring off into some other dimension, his breathing shallow and shaky. He’s ringing his hands together mindlessly, his eyebrows furrowed in some sort of way that makes him look both confused and scared.   
“Armin?” I say sitting up and letting go of Eren’s hand. He looks up, his eyes still distant but aimed at me. “You okay?”  
“It’s a prophecy,” he mumbles, still not coming to. Eren and I look at each other and back at Armin.   
“Armin?”  
“It’s a prophecy,” Armin says again, swallowing. “It’s a prophecy for the end of the world.”


	3. Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Marco's finally here. And plot!

“The fuck do you mean it’s a prophecy for the end of the world?”   
Armin’s pacing the Study wringing his hands so violently that I think they might fall off. He’s mumbling to himself with his giant blue eyes filled with panic and distress he’s nearly on the verge of tears.   
After Armin sputtered that Mary-Elle had told us a prophecy about the end of the fucking planet, we all just kind of froze. Except Armin, who decided that walking a marathon through his office was going to fix things. I just sat there in confusion, Eren next to me the same way, Annie is still in one of the leather chairs with her head in her hands, and Mikasa is looming beside her unimpressed.   
I’m pretty sure Armin’s having a panic attack. Any second now he’s going to be rocking in the fetal position on the floor bawling his eyes out. It doesn’t look like anyone’s making any headway to calm him, so I struggle to pull my legs from behind Eren, nearly knocking him over, and stumble over to Armin. I grab him by his shoulders that are about as tense as Annie and shake him back to reality.   
“Armin! Fuck, calm down!” It doesn’t do anything, he just looks at me and lets the tears fall from his red eyes. He sputters something about how we’re going to die and crumbles in my grasp, leaving me the only thing that’s keeping him from falling to the ground. “Woah woahwoah, don’t do this buddy,” I mumble trying to collect this poor humanoid version of fear.  
I don’t really have the strength to keep the both of us standing, so we just kind of seep to the floor, Armin like a bag of sand and tears. He sits in my arms gaping down at his hands, letting little drops of salty water fall into his palms.   
“Armin?” I whisper. He lets out a shaky sigh and wearily looks up at Annie across the room.   
“This prophecy has been told for centuries, Jean,” he sighs. There’s this hopeless expression on his face as he gapes at Annie, it hurts to see him look at the love of his life like that. “And now it’s time.”  
I try to turn and look at him in the face, but he won’t give up on Annie. “I don’t understand,” I say still confused as hell.   
“When the one who breaks the barrier between life and death will the devil break his bounds and claim a place on God's plain,” Armin says without blinking. “It’s you Jean,” he flicks his pained eyes to me, “You’re the one who breaks the barrier between life and death.”  
“So you’re saying I’m the one who brought on the fucking apocalypse?” I spit.   
“No Jean, this was going to happen no matter what you did,” he sighs impenetrable to my harshness. He wipes a hand down his face and sniffs, looking back to Annie, who’s now staring back at him. Her expression is heavy and dark searching for Armin’s fading light. “I always hoped it wasn’t you.”  
“You mean you thought it was me the whole time?” There’s a sinking feeling of guilt and anger mixing with my confusion, whatever this is, it can’t be good.   
“No Jean,” he huffs and stands, padding his way over to Annie, “You showed the signs but I never accepted it, I didn’t want it to be true.” He kneels in front of Annie, wraps his arms around her waist, and puts his head in her lap. Annie instinctively starts combing her fingers through Armin's hair, lazily brushing out the tangles from him messing it up.  
How come I never knew shit about any of this prophecy stuff? If I’m the a-bomb then shouldn’t I have been warned or something? Can’t I do anything about this? So I can see dead people, whoop-de-do, doesn’t mean I’m gonna bring the fucking capital A apacolypse to the goddamn planet.   
Just as I’m about to bitch at Armin for leaving me in the dark, Eren speaks up, “So what’s going to happen?” he asks in a hushed voice scared to talk too loud and make Hades claw out of the fucking ground.   
Armin sits up and turns, keeping his cheek resting on Annie’s knee but facing Eren. “The prophecy implies that the dead will rise, in what form, I don’t know, they could be spirits or zombies or anything. And once the dead rise, the devil will use them to take the livings souls, therefore creating another dimension of hell that the devil can thrive on, being only the next step to the final battle with the devil and God himself.”  
I flick my eyes to Eren who looks like he’s going to spew lunch over Armin’s fancy foreign rug, Armin says this like he’s known about it all his life. Annie and Mikasa both are unimpressed as well. Seems like there’s an end-of-the-world club Eren and I don’t know about.   
I look over to Mikasa, who’s fiddling with a threaded bracelet on her wrist. “Did you know about this?” I ask her in a hoarse voice.   
She looks up and sighs, “One of the first things I was taught.”   
“Great,” I spit standing up, my head pounds in protest to me moving so fast but I don’t care, “That’s just fucking great. You guys have had all this time to fucking prepare for the goddamn apocalypse that you all knew was coming, and I’m supposedly the bringer of said apocalypse, and I don’t know shit.”   
“Me neither.” I hear Eren’s voice chirp from behind me.   
“Yeah, him too,” I huff crossing my arms, I just now remembered that I’m wearing a fucking lime green tourist souvenir and it somehow makes me even angrier.  
“What good would it’ve been if we’d told you?” Armin says sitting up.   
“I could’ve prepared or-”  
“No, you couldn’t,” Armin demands, he sits up from Annie and looks at me with confident eyes, “There’s no way to prepare for something like this, you would’ve just lived in fear for the rest of your life.” Armin’s voice is strong and unquestioning, I always liked when he could manage that feeling.   
I stare down at him, unable to retort his logic, because sure, he’s right. I still don’t like being left in the dark though. “So what do we do now?” I grunt.   
Armin sighs and looks out the window his hand instinctively intertwines with Annie’s behind him. “Do what Mary-Elle said: find Marco Bodt.”   
“Who the fuck is Marco Bodt?”  
-  
“Bodt is a famous last name for a bloodline of psychics, now I’ve never heard of a Marco, but the most recent was a Maia Bodt.” We’ve been in the Library for an hour talking about the history of psychics and prophecies. I’m sprawled in a chair with an old smelling book resting on my face listening to Armin rant and rave about the Bodt bloodline.   
Eren is soaking it in like the supernatural fanboy he is, motivating Armin even more about going through each little detail. I groan through my book and think up a message for Annie to read who’s somewhere around the room.   
Can’t you start making out with him to get him to stop talking? It takes a while for her to catch my message but eventually she sends one back.  
You’re the one who wanted to know about the prophecy, she says. I roll my eyes under the book and let it fall into my lap.   
I look over to Armin who’s now talking about how the Bodt’s were first designated as the go-to psychics by God himself so many years ago. I shake my head as Eren oogles up at Armin with that stupid childish curiosity in his eyes.   
I interrupt him mid-sentence, “Can’t we just, like, google him or something?” I groan.   
Armin looks up, a little disheartened by my complete lack of excitement about his history, and shrugs, “I guess so, I just wanted to know what we were getting into before we dive head first.”   
I sigh and lazily stand, “You do that, I’m gonna google him and bring him back here. Sound good?” I say as I trot out of the room, not really looking for permission.   
“I mean-Jean wait-!” Armin’s voice is cut off by the slamming of the heavy Library door. I send Annie a message to tell Armin that I’ll be fine and I’ll call if I need something. And I’m out.   
Somehow, I’ve lost my shoes. I didn’t have them on when I woke up from after the whole Mary-Elle shebang, so I skip to my car on hot asphalt with my bare feet and a stupid green sweatshirt on, I must look like a freak. Once I’m in my car, I blast the AC and rip off the sin of a sweatshirt. It’s not the first time I’ve driven with only a pair of pants on.   
The main reason I left so abruptly was that I just needed a moment alone. I need to be away from Mikasa’s looming presence, from Annie’s telepathic tendencies, Armin’s theories, and Eren’s jitters; I just want to be alone. I know that once I’m out of Armin’s magical iron gates, it won’t be long before another spirit latches onto me, but I don’t really care. I can deal with ghosts much better than actual people.   
I notice the scars on my chest from the worst cuts I had from today. There’s only a few, and besides that, I’m clear. The bruising from the broken ribs is gone and all the little scrapes from the glass are like they never happened. Mikasa’s frigging good at her job.  
Once the AC is cold enough, I pull out of the parking lot now only consisting of Eren’s car, and drive my way back to Charleston. It’s quite a different drive than this morning. Instead of worrying about a damn ghost keeping me up tonight, I’m worrying about the world ending. Yeah, very different. It makes the drive unenjoyable. I wanted alone time but now I’m bothered with the thoughts that this world is going to be torn to pieces sooner than later. Everything I look at is going to be ruined by the dead.   
I get back to the apartment and immediately head for the kitchen. I don’t really think I’ve had any real food today, this morning feeling like it was years ago. I scarf down some of Eren’s leftovers from who knows when and notice that my sketchbook is still open on the counter. Mary-Elle in all her looming glory floats on the pages like she’s just another apparition, just another ghost to be a faded memory, just another spirit that kept me awake at night.   
For some reason, I’m not as freaked out as I’d imagine I’d be if I knew that the world was ending. Everything just seems like it’s in a haze, covered up by the confusion and the absurdity of it all. I may just be in shock and dealing with it like nothing’s wrong. I have no idea, but the world is ending and I seem to be cool about it.   
I shuffle to my room and put on some new clothes and plop into my desk chair and head for good ol’ Google. I hesitate to type this dudes name, I don’t know why, I guess I’m just anxious that he’s going to be some crazy ass street penny pincher that is rumored to have killed a man. So in procrastination, I post the draft I had on Mary-Elle. I debated changing it and writing her a new story that reflected more of what I saw of her, but it makes me more comfortable with keeping everything that had happened to myself. As soon as I post, my millions of readers start going bizerk, falling in love with the story and Mary-Elle, saying how my Edgar Allen Poe-esque writing is rejuvenating in this modern generation. I roll my eyes at their drooling comments. They don’t know that I just write as an outlet for my problems, much like them. I do enjoy reading that they like it though, still makes me feel minorly loved.   
After about a half an hour of procrastination, I search for the mysterious Marco Bodt. Thankfully, he isn’t a psycho mental institution breakout roaming the streets for a person to shoot, he’s actually a professor at the College of Charleston, practically a ten minute drive from my apartment. He’s a psychology professor, and only twenty-eightish. I take it as a win. All I have to do is drive down to campus and ask him if he knows anything about the end of the world, right? That won’t totally freak him out or anything.   
Whatever. Do what ya gotta do.   
-  
I’ve texted Armin telling him that Marco is a professor at the College of Charleston and that I’m on my way to meet him.   
That was an hour ago.   
Now I’m sitting in a parking garage trying to summon the courage to get out of the fucking car. It’s been forty five minutes, my AC is desperately wheezing at me to get out so it can catch a break. I just...don’t know what to do. What do I say to him? “Hi my name is Jean Kirstein and I’ve recently been told by a ghost that the world is going to end and you’re the only one that can save it. So what do ya say we go punch the big bad devil in the face and get it over with?” I don’t think so.   
I groan and turn off the car watching students waddle around campus with their heavy bags and good intentions. It’s now or never, I guess.   
I walk through the crowds of college kids and feel majorly out of place. I never went to college, it was never my thing. Everything I know is self taught. Plus, I never had the time to concentrate on it, there were other ‘things’ distracting me.   
The campus is beautiful. Giant twisting oak trees cast welcoming shadows onto lawns of green grass. The buildings are both new and old structures making it all feel like a warm mix of the past and future, always looking forward but keeping hold of what was. The college started in 1770, and is apparently voted the most beautiful campus in America. I did some research as I was waiting in the car.   
I head for the welcome center, there’s a middle aged lady with a pleasant smile on her face. She gives me a well practiced greeting, I try to reciprocate her euphoria.   
“Hi, uh, my name’s Jean Kirstein, could you point me to Marco-Professor Marco Bodt’s office please?” I ask with a wince of a smile. She looks down at her computer through the bifocals in her glasses.   
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks as she fiddles with her mouse.   
I shuffle from one foot to the other, “Uh, no, but I-”  
“Oh here you are,” she says looking closer at the screen, “Looks like he has you scheduled for the whole day. You seem to be late.” She squints at me over the tops of her glasses and raises an eyebrow. I gape at her. Like, fuck do I say? I didn’t schedule any damn appointment. “His office is in the sciences building, room 212, I’ll tell him that you’re on your way.”   
Uhh, okay? “Th-thank you,” I mumble, turning back the way I came. I’m totally going to be lost, I barely found the welcome center.   
I stumble out of the building and walk aimlessly down the path leading to a semi circle of buildings, none of which I can read the names off of.  
“Jean, wait!” I hear a voice call from behind me. Back at the entrance to the welcome center, a small strawberry blonde girl is coming down the steps and jogging over to me. “Hey,” she says out of breath when she reaches me, “Sorry, I almost lost you.”  
I look down at her. I’m officially more confused than I was when I was told that the world is ending. “Uh, do I know you?”  
She laughs, “Oh, no no, Professor Bodt had me wait in the lobby for you all day, he said you wouldn’t know where to go.”   
“Um, okay?” I sputter. She nods and adjusts her backpack.  
“Follow me,” she says turning and skipping in the opposite direction I was going. I follow her about a pace behind. She’s pretty short, but she moves like a fucking track runner. “I’m Petra by the way, Marco’s assistant, well, that is until I get my masters,” she chirps, making easy banter with me. I just kind of nod, still weirded out by the whole situation.   
We walk around campus to a brick and column building kind of tucked into a corner. Anxiety finds its way back to my gut as we head up the stairs.   
“You know,” Petra says in a hushed voice around the other loitering students studying in the science building's lobby, “Marco’s had this appointment scheduled for almost six weeks now, I’ve never seen someone dread a meeting so much. You seem to have rattled him or something.”   
I follow her up the stairs, my body sore against the beating I put it through today. “Yeah, him and I both,” I mutter.   
She takes me down a hallway lined with little offices and to the last door on the right. The name card reads Dr. Marco Bodt - Psychology. There are no windows to the door and I’m dreading what might be on the other side. Petra steps forward and taps the door with her knuckles.  
“Marco? Your appointment’s here,” she says to the crack of the door. There’s shuffling on the other side and the door slowly opens.  
A tall dark haired dude with light brown eyes and freckles looks down at Petra, smiling and giving her a nod thanks. She wishes me luck for some reason and trots back down the long hallway. I feel oddly alone without her.   
The man looks at my feet, holding himself up with the door frame. I don’t say anything. I mean, if the guy knew I was coming, I shouldn’t have to explain myself, right? I stand there awkwardly and try to avoid fidgeting.   
He’s wearing jeans and a cotton white button down shirt tucked loosely into his pants, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He seems pretty chill for a professor. Although he looks like he hasn’t slept for days. I don’t know why the dead have put all their faith into this guy, but it seems like he isn’t really taking it well.   
I clear my throat and he raises his head, finding my eyes. For some reason, I’m incredibly uncomfortable reciprocating the motion, he looks at me like he’s dreaded the day that he’d have to see my face. He sighs, opening the door all the way and stepping aside. “Come in, I’m sure you’ve had a long day too,” he says with a wince of a smile.  
I swallow and nod, accepting his invitation and stepping inside his surprisingly roomy office. There’s two floor-to-ceiling windows on adjacent walls, letting in all the South Carolina sun it can, brightening up the blue and gray walls. I stand awkwardly inside the entrance and wait for him to close the door behind me.   
He drags himself to a coffee machine in the corner, “Want some?” He mumbles as the machine gurgles and hisses.   
“Please,” I mutter letting myself into one of the folding chairs on the opposite side of his desk.   
He pours two mugs and sets one on the table for me, I nod a thanks. He surprisingly takes the seat next to me instead of his nice computer chair. We sip on our coffee in awkward silence for a while, neither of us knowing what to say. I’m glad he has the balls to speak up first.   
“So I’m assuming you must be weirded out by the whole appointment thing,” he says leaning back in his chair, it squeaks in protest.   
I run a hand down my face, “Uh, yeah, I don’t really-your assistant said you had it blocked off for like six weeks.”   
He nods looking out one of the windows across from us. I notice how obvious his freckles are, I assumed adults just grew out of them, but not apparently for this guy. It makes him look younger, contradicting the dark circles under his eyes that makes him look older. “Yeah I, uh, knew you were coming,” he mumbles.   
I’ve been around enough supernatural shit not to be freaked out by that comment. I did grow up with Annie, didn’t I? “Armin said you’re a psychic.”   
“More or less,” he shrugs he looks at me with a faded glint in his eyes. God, humble people with supernatural abilities, such a weird combination. I nod at him, I don’t really know where to go from here. “Something tells me that you know of a little prophecy,” he says lightly.   
My heart skips. Yeah, that.   
I meet his eyes. “It told me to find you,” I say letting Mary-Elle’s soft voice replay in my head. I look around the room, “But it sounds like you already knew that too.”  
Marco shrugs, his eyes still wearing a cloak of fatigue with his movements loose and slow. “I did,” he sighs, “And what do you suppose we do now?”   
Fuck if I know. I was only just told that the world was going to end this morning, and apparently this guy has known for weeks. There’s that burn in my chest again, making me feel frustrated for being left out of the loop.   
I look at him and his freckled glory. “I don’t fuckin’ know, you’re the psychic,” I say with the grace of a fourteen year old shithead.   
He smiles and combs a hand through his fine dark hair. “Right, well I can’t control that just as much as you can’t control seeing the dead.”   
I’m officially angry that everyone knows everything except me.   
This guy knows about the apocalypse, knew when the prophecy was going to be told, and knows that about my problem. I blow a puff of angered air and poutingly look out the window.   
“Then how do you know about all this stuff?” I ask him through a tense jaw.   
“I dreamt about it,” he shrugs.   
“And you decide that all your dreams are fortune telling visions?” I sass at him with a raise of an eyebrow. Shut up, I’m kind of pissed.   
“My mother was a psychic, she taught me how to learn from my dreams,” he says unfazed by my harshness. He probably deals with pissy kids on a daily basis, so I guess I’m not one to change the culture.   
I sigh and rub my eyes. “Okay, well, my friend is kind of the epicenter of all things freaky. So I’ll just take you to him and see what he says.”   
I imagine him to protest or something. I mean, that’s what I’d do. A guy you’ve never talked to waltzes into your office and asks you about the end of the world and then says that he’s going to take you to this crazy guy that knows about weird shit; I wouldn’t go. But Marco just nods for a second and stands taking his mug back to his coffee maker table.   
“I already have Petra taking my classes for the rest of the semester, I told her that I’m going to Europe or something,” he says with a sad smile. It must be weird being the only person who knew that the world was going to end. I wonder how much he really knows or if he can even tell anyone.   
“You could probably stay at Armin’s if you need to. I’m assuming saving the world is going to be time consuming,” I joke standing to give him my empty mug. Look at me, already making inappropriate jokes about the apocalypse.   
He smiles, “Yeah, I-” Just as Marco’s hand brushes with mine on the mug, he freezes. His hand tightens around my fingers and on the ceramic so hard that I think he might crush the cup. I yelp and try to pull away from him, but no matter how hard I yank at my hand, my fingers won’t budge, it’s almost like they’re frozen to Marco.   
Marco gasps and falls to his knees in front of me. The mug between our fingers falls and shatters on the tile floor. Marco’s hand grips harder around mine crushing my bones. I fall to the floor with him, still trying to pry away from him like a bear in a trap. I yell for him to let go, but he doesn’t move. I notice as his eyes roll into the back of his head and turn a milky white. His breath comes in gasps and wheezes, unable to control himself.   
I try to use my other hand pull our fingers apart but nothing will give. Marco’s fingers start burning with a frigid cold that feels like I’ve just stuck my hand into a pile of snow. I’m so fucking done right now. I can’t take this many psycho ass supernatural encounters in one day.   
Marco gives one last gasp in the form of a cry and we both fall back, our hands finally giving out. The room fills with the sounds of our heavy breathing, I hold my hand and try to flex out the burning cold feeling. I look back at Marco. He’s clutching a hand to his head and staring down at the floor, his eyes back to normal. He’s sweating and out of breath, just like me. I try not to explode on him with how done I am.   
“What the fuck was that?” I yell at him, clearly my attempts to remain calm have failed. He looks up at me and back at the floor. “Marco-”  
“Fire,” he mumbles, panic rising to his voice and his movements. He stands quickly and grabs his shoulder bag from his chair. I’m still on the floor trying to process that this is just what my life is going to be like now. He bends and fists a hand in my shirt by my shoulder and yanks me to my feet. “We have to go there’s going to be a fire.”  
“What-?”  
“Now!” Marco shoves me to the door and breaks into a sprint down the hall. I chase after him, weirdly trusting him. He turns the corner at an unbelievable speed and flips the fire alarm on the wall. The shrieking siren echos through the building, setting off flashing lights and unleashing students from the classrooms. Marco and I continue to run down the stairs, given the unfair advantage of knowing about the fire before hand.   
I notice that the students and teachers aren’t really exiting the building though, mostly all just confused that this wasn’t a scheduled fire alarm routine. I try to smell if there’s any burning or see if there’s any foggy smoke, but there’s nothing. I start to wonder if Marco is right or if he really is some crazy off the street.   
We bust out of the doors and down the sidewalk stopping once we’ve gotten far enough and turn to look at the building. Nothing’s happening. Only a few students have wandered out of the front glass doors, making confused faces at the building above them.   
“No,” Marco mumbles, “They’re going to die.” He breaks into a running fever again back towards the building. I stupidly follow him. If he saw the fire, in what I’m assuming now was a vision, then he’s going to get himself killed trying to be a hero and running back into the building.   
He starts yelling for the kids on the front steps to get back, they look at him like he’s insane. I yell for him to fucking stop. And just as Marco reaches the front steps, the entire building lights up in an eruption of flames and shattered glass. The boom of the explosion ricocheting off the walls of other buildings. The students that got out scream and run for safety. Every single glass window bursts into millions of pieces raining down onto the pavement where Marco and I are.   
More students and teachers run screaming from the building. Staggering sounds of pain and fear suffocate the air. Marco falls back from the eruption but gets back to his feet and continues to run for the entrance. I sprint after him. This guy is supposed to save the world, how is he going to do that if he dies in the meantime?  
I reach him at the entrance and grab the back of his shirt, I yank him back gripping him by his arms and pull him down the stairs. Smoke and flames billow from the broken windows casting ripples of black clouds to the sky. Marco’s screaming for me to let him go and trying to claw out of my grasp. I pull him back to a safe distance and keep him there until I hear sirens echoing from down the street.   
“Stop it Marco! You can’t save anyone if you get yourself fucking killed,” I yell at him as he’s screaming and crying. He struggles enough to make us both fall, sending me crashing onto my back with him on top of me. I continue to keep my arms wrapped around his waist as he wiggles. “Shit Marco, fucking stop!”   
He falls limp in my hold and sits up, half on me, and looks in horror at the burning building. People claw their way out, their clothes burned and torn to shreds. They bleed and cry and scream. A few jump from the three story building and crash into the bushes or trees, some of them miss and hit the pavement. Two fire trucks and ambulances screech in front of the building, hosing it down with blasting water. Firemen rush into the building and pull out unconscious students all covered in soot and burns. Medics run about the scene, checking up on every crying victim gaping at the horror. One guy comes up to Marco and I, and I wave him away to go help other people.   
The fire continues to rage on. My heart drops to my stomach when I start to see unmistakeable spirits drifting from the building, turning and looking at their broken dead bodies in horror. The ghosts reach out for their friends or medics, trying to yell soundlessly for someone to help them. The clutching in my throat gets unbearable surrounded by so many spirits that I have to restrain myself to not cry. There’s nothing I can do for them. Eventually they’ll find me and latch onto me, but ever since this morning I don’t think Armin and I can afford to help any more spirits move on from Ghostland.  
I hastily decide that Marco and I need to get out of here. I stand and pull the professor up with me. He’s still crying and muttering about how sorry he is. I take one of his lanky arms and wrap it around my shoulder, dragging him back to my car.   
I help him into the passenger's seat and hop into the drivers letting the AC cool. I look at Marco, the tears stream down his cheeks clearing line in the soot and dirt on his face from the explosion. Little cuts and scraps from the glass are scattered about on his freckled skin. I make a mental note to have Mikasa heal him when we get back. He’s gaping down at his hands, staring at his open palms like he’s hoping for a miracle.   
“You did everything you could,” I say through the lump in my throat. My breathing is still labored and unnatural from nearby spirits, wandering their way away from the flaming building.   
His tears drop into his lap as he shakily sighs, “This is only the beginning,” he sniffs, “There are much, much worse things coming.”


	4. Marco Bodt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> xx

The drive back to Armin’s is silent. Marco sits there like a deflated balloon staring aimlessly through the windshield. I feel like I should comfort him or something, but I think I need some comforting too. I imagine he sees a lot of things like this, in his ‘visions’ or ‘dreams’ or whatever.   
I calm myself and try to forget about the swarm of spirits at the college. It’s probably unsafe for me to go back there for a while. I’ve never seen that before. The whole ‘seeing someone’s soul leave their body and turn into a ghost’ thing. I saw as the light dulled from their skin and materialized into a transparent fog of who they were. I saw them as they turned their own dead body and screamed in horror. I couldn’t tell the difference between the cries of the dead and of the living. I’m definitely not sleeping tonight.   
It’s about eight o’clock now, this day being the longest in my entire life. I imagine I’ll be having many more of these in the near future. The sun eases itself into the blanket of clouds casting them orange and pink shades blending together like melting sorbet. I don’t feel the same contentment that I do whenever I look at the South Carolina sky, now it feels...bittersweet. I avoid looking at the sky and just try to concentrate on the road through acres of damp swamp lands.   
“You know that’s never happened before,” Marco mumbles next to me. He still hasn’t moved, he’s just blinking slowly at the road, covered in soot and grime. I imagine I look the same, we both need a shower and lots of sleep.   
“What’s never happened before?” I ask. I notice as his head turns slightly, looking at my hand resting on the drive stick in the center console.   
“I’ve never touched someone and had a vision,” he says in a quiet voice still looking at my hand. I feel oddly self aware of my fingers and start fidgeting.   
“Oh,” I swallow, “Is that...bad?” I ask oblivious to how this psychic thing works. I hope Armin knows how to handle him better than I do.   
He shakes his head and looks back out the front windshield. “I don’t know,” he sighs. Okay...awkward.   
We sit here for a little longer, our silence now filled with the questions of Marco’s psyche. I nervously wonder if I should turn on the radio or something and kill this heavy silence. Instead I begin to jabber like an idiot.   
“I, uh, never said my name,” I stutter, scratching at a cut on my jaw, “It’s Jean by the way.”  
Marco actually chokes out a laugh. I turn to him utterly confused and make a weird face at him. He smiles back at me and runs a hand through his hair.   
“I know, I’ve heard your name many times, Jean Kirstein,” he says laughing a little more.  
“Oh,” I mutter and remember that the appointment was saved under my name. Marco looks out the side window and starts to laugh to himself some more. A pleasant lightness fills my chest, he’s actually laughing and it makes me feel good for some reason. “What?” I say, a smile creeping to my face.   
Marco clears his throat and tries to stop his giggling. “It’s uh-it’s nothing, I just,” he looks over to me and smiles again, little crinkles creasing at the corners of his eyes, “I never expected you to be so...normal,” he says biting at his lower lip.   
I squint at the road and raise an eyebrow. “Uh...thank you?”   
“I’ve just known about you for most of my life as this mystical and oh-so powerful force to be reckoned with, not a normal, awkward, real guy,” he says with a light to his voice that I like to hear.   
“Oh, believe me, I’m totally extraordinary,” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows. Marco gives me the ‘sure you are’ look and smiles to himself. I think twice about what he’d said and get confused again. “Wait, what do you mean by you’ve known about me for most of your life?”  
“Oh uh,” Marco stutters making a quick look from me to the window. “You’re kind of famous in the psychic world,” he shrugs with a blush. I raise an eyebrow at him as I try to focus on driving while being confused. He scratches the back of his neck. “This prophecy has been talked about for centuries, passed down from generation to generation, my family thinks of you as a god.”   
“And they’ve known my name the entire time?” I ask, the idea running back through my head that if I was supposed to bring the end of the world and people knew about it, why haven’t they killed me already?   
“Oh, no no, I’ve only known your name for maybe a month and a half now, but I hear it every night. I dream about you as this faceless Greek god who can tame the dead and send the devil surrendering back to his hellish underground,” he says like it’s no big deal. Like, the fuck? Supposedly I’m this amazing god of a ghost tamer and will save the world from its inevitable demise. Really? I work summers as a boat tour guide. God? I don’t think so.  
I don’t say anything, only gripping the steering wheel tighter as anxiety creeps back to my gut.  
“But uh, once I heard your name, I looked you up, and that’s probably the only reason I didn’t drop to my knees and start kissing your feet when you came into my office today,” Marco shrugs.  
I laugh, mostly at the joke but also at his blunt honesty, he doesn’t seem to have any problems with hiding what he knows, it’s refreshing to be around someone who doesn’t make a living out of hiding secrets.   
I turn down the road leading to Armin’s house for the second time today. “So it sounds like I have quite the reputation to live up to,” I say.  
“Not really, it’s all prophecy, as long as everything goes as planned you’ll be just as amazing as everyone thinks you are,” Marco says genuinely. I blush for some reason, hoping the rush of bright color to my cheeks is covered by the girme coating my face. I try not to feel flattered for some reason.   
“Please, I’m pretty sure the only people who think I’m amazing are sitting in this car,” I say pulling up to the keypad in front of Armin’s iron gates. Marco covers his giggle with his fist as I buzz for Armin to open the gates.   
We pull through the border and Marco shivers, I look over at him and he’s gaping down at his hands. I go to ask if he’s alright but he speaks up before I can. “There’s a lot of magic here,” he says with a restrained voice.   
“Uh, yeah, Armin’s safety precautions borderline paranoia,” I say still looking at him like he might grow a third eye. He just nods and swallows, apparently being somewhat sensitive to Armin’s protection sigils.   
“And...who exactly is Armin?” He asks stuffing his hands between his legs. I notice him looking at the giant mansion like it’s some haunted medieval castle.   
I smile at him. “Don’t worry, you’re in much better hands with Armin than with me.” I pull into the parking lot next to Eren’s car that’s still here. The sun outside has nearly disappeared completely, the sky only a solid shade of dark blue.   
“I highly doubt that.” I hear Marco mumble as we stumble out of the car, both of us worn from our not-so-fun college visit. I grab the duffel I packed out of the back seat and Marco waits for me gaping at the house along the beach as he clenches onto the strap of his computer bag. His dark hair tosses softly in the wind, the waves from the ocean calming his senses, and the creeping moon casting a soft light onto his face shadowing his contours just right.  
I pat his shoulder as I walk past him, “It’s okay, I promise he’s not a vampire.”   
He follows only a step behind me. “Don’t joke about that, vampires are real,” he says as we climb the steps to the archway that is Armin’s front entrance and I knock on the hard wood.   
I throw a look at him as we wait for Mina to answer hand carved door, “I know.” Marco looks at me with this magnificently horrified face and I almost start to laugh but am interrupted by the door opening. Armin stands in the entrance and the motherly concerned look on his face that I didn’t miss.   
“Hi honey, we’re home,” I chime as I step past him leading Marco behind me.   
“I thought you were at the university,” Armin huffs, those terrible worry lines starting to wear at the skin between his eyebrows.   
“We were,” I grunt noticing Marco tense at Armin’s mention of his school, “And now we’re here, end of story.” I wish Armin was a telepath at some times because I really want to send him a message to not fucking say anything about the college, but alas, Armin is no mind reader.  
“But the fire-” he starts, I cut him off by grabbing his shoulder and pulling him aside.   
“Don’t.” Is all I say in a low gruff voice, probably scaring the shit out of Armin, not for being forceful, but being so protective so quickly. I don’t know why I’m being like this either, but I just watched this guy scream and cry as he saw his co workers, students, friends, and workplace burn to the ground. I’m pretty sure anyone would try and alleviate as much pain as they could for someone in Marco’s position. Armin swallows and nods.   
We turn back to Marco, he’s looking nervously around the grand entryway with his tan hands twisting at the worn strap. I breathe in a breath of confidence and grab Marco by the shoulder stepping away from the worried blonde. I give him a little shake and he snaps out of his house oogling. He blinks at Armin and steps forward, giving him his most sincere smile.  
“Hi, I’m Marco Bodt,” the duo shakes hands. Armin’s face softens to an amused smile. “You have a lovely, uh...home,” Marco says getting caught off guard by the wall of flags that Armin has representing all the countries he’s been to.   
Armin let’s out a small chuckle, his worried mom face scrubbed free by Marco’s childlike wonder. “Thank you, I’m Armin Arlert, feel free to stay for as long as you’d like,” Armin says in a soft voice. It seems like Marco can get just about anyone out of their funk of a mood, I’ll have to try him out on Mikasa or Annie later.   
“Marco, if you don’t mind, I know you’ve probably had a long day yourself, but could I ask you a couple of questions?” Armin asks scratching the back of his hand.   
Marco looks from me to Armin. “Oh, uh, okay,” he says with a small shake to his voice. Armin nods again and starts to lead Marco to the Study, I follow them a few paces behind not really wanting to talk about the damn apocalypse anymore.   
In the Study, while Marco starts gaping at the walls again, I notice Annie is the only other person in the room. She’s laying on the couch that I was in when we went on our little memory adventure, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and looking like she’s been sleeping. I go to blab out a sarcastic comment about how she looks, but she shoots me a glare already knowing what I’m about to say; so I drop it.   
Armin leads Marco to one of his leather guest chairs where Armin sits next to him. I saunter my way over to Annie on the couch and plop down by her feet. She glares at me through tired eyes and I give her a dazzling smile. She rolls her eyes and we both turn to watch Armin and Marco start to talk.   
“I can’t read him,” she mutters after a moment. I watch as Marco nervously bounces his leg and keeps looking back from me to Armin. Annie is watching intently at the two, probably boring holes into Marco’s head trying to get into his thoughts.   
“I’m not surprised,” I sigh resting my arm along the back to the couch. “He seems powerful, he knew about the fire at the college and saved a bunch of people, and he can sense the protection magic around the house.” Annie’s always had a problem with reading the supernaturally powerful. Like Levi, she’s never been able to get one sentence off of him. It drives her crazy. So this prophesied psychic that’s supposed to save the world? Yeah, there’s no way she’s going to be able to get through to him.   
“I don’t think he was sensing the house’s magic, Levi’s here,” she mutters. Ah, speak of the devil. They probably called him and told him that the world just so happens to be ending, I pretty sure that’s a good enough reason to get him out of his hole in the ground.   
“Where is everyone then?”   
Annie sits up and wraps her arms around her knees, her sweatpants are Armin’s, they say Harvard down the side in big white letters. “Armin told everyone that he didn’t want the psychic to be attacked as soon as he got here. We practically had to lock Eren in the basement,” she says mirthlessly. I watch Annie as she finds no amusement in Eren’s ridiculous fanboy persona. I don’t know how she looks when she smiles. I once asked Armin if he’s ever seen her smile, and he said that she rarely does, and half of the time it’s not in the good way. I’m still amazed how Armin can be so in love with such a scary person.   
“Where is Eren then?” I ask imagining him in tied up in shackles and ropes in a grungy dungeon just to be held back from going total fanboy on the psychic.   
“With Mikasa.” My stomach sinks and I’m left with the familiar feeling of jealousy that had fucked my day up only a few hours ago. I fidget uncomfortably in my seat, feeling unsatisfied with every move I make.   
Annie and I sit there, me unable to sit still, and Annie staring intently at the back of Armin’s head. I imagine she’s reading Armin's mind instead of trying to flail to get through Marco’s. I watch Marco give short lived answers to Armin questions, looking uncomfortable and flighty. Which is odd being that I didn’t even ask Marco anything in the car and he half spilled his life story being totally comfortable around me. He keeps flicking his eyes back to me, I feel like a mom at a doctor's appointment trying to give him encouraging nods and be a silent cheerleader.   
I sigh and stand pulling my duffel bag back over my shoulder, I slug my way to the Study door and notice Marco watching me leave, I give a little encouraging smile that seems to lighten him up a bit. Armin turns to me too cutting off in the middle of his sentence.   
“I’m just going to get cleaned up, I’ll be in my room if you need me,” I say. Armin nods and I shuffle out feeling more and more tired the longer I stand. I hope Armin doesn’t question Marco into him running away, I know I would if I were him.   
I do the math in my head as I climb the stairs to the guest hall. Armin has four guest rooms, all of which are their own spectacle of Armin’s glory, and there’s a full house of five people staying in his home. That means some of us are going to have to double up, and with my luck I’ll be one of those people.   
I give Marco the new guy profits and give him his own room, this means I’ll either be staying with Mikasa or Eren. (If I even think about sharing a room with Levi he’ll punch me in the throat.) I shuffle down the hall of rooms and take a guess on whos rooms whos. I knock on a door, and when no one answers, I let myself in and see Mikasa’s bags and clothes on the bed. I sigh with a wait on my heart and think twice about sharing a room with my ex-girlfriend. I don’t think she’d be too happy about it. I stoop to Eren’s level and give in on having to share a room with the dork. It might be nice to sleep with someone at least.   
I try the next door hoping to the gods that it isn’t Levi’s room, and no one answers again. I open the door and find the room pitch black. I assume it’s the empty room and flick on the lights so I can use the bathroom to take a shower. The lights glow down on two lumps in the bed buried in the white comforter and sheets. I tip toe my way to the bed to see who it is. Maybe there’s someone else here that Annie didn’t mention.   
I creep up to see two heads poking out from beneath the clouds of fabric. One with a fuzz of brunette hair sticking up in all directions: Eren. And one with long silky black hair spread out on the pillow like graceful waves of the ocean: Mikasa.   
Eren and Mikasa.  
Asleep.   
In a bed.  
Together.  
The amount of emotions that run through me are so powerful that I can’t decide what to do next. I want to scream, or rip the sheets off of them, punch Eren in the face, cry for Mikasa, possibly just start throwing things at them. I want to do everything, anything, but I can’t move. I’m so overwhelmed that I’m literally frozen looking at my ex girlfriend sleeping with my roommate.   
My breath picks up as the adrenaline fuels my thoughts. I drop my duffel bag and take a lunge of a step to the bed raising my arm to grab Eren’s fuzzy head.  
“Hey motherfuc-!” I put as much power into my voice as I can but am rudely interrupted by someone wrapping their arm around my throat and yanking me back. The rest of my cleverly planned cry at Eren comes out as a strangled choke, I lose my balance and fall back into whoever is yanking at me. I’m pulled out of the room stumbling and trying to choke out insults. In the hallway, I’m dumped onto the ground and punched in the face for good measure, giving my attacker, which I can see now is Annie, enough time to go back into the room grabbing my duffel and turning off the lights. She closes the door behind her and throws my bag in my face, my laptop giving me a nice forceful slap to my throbbing nose.   
“Leave them alone, she’s not yours anymore,” Annie says not even the slightest out of breath. She turns on her heel and heads back down the hallway to the stairs. I’m left alone on the ground with a bleeding nose, a throbbing need to punch Eren in the face, and a broken heart. I struggle to my feet, feeling worse than I have all day and lean against the wall, letting my brain calm for a moment so I can make my way to the Library which I have now donned my bedroom.   
Standing there with blood running down my chin and my heart sagging in my chest, the bedroom door opens with a small creak. Mikasa sticks her head out with tousled hair and tired eyes. She sees me in all my broken glory (for the, like, third time today) and immediately breaks into her Healer mode. She steps to me and starts running her fingers over my nose and little cuts from the glass at the college. I give myself a moment to let her touch me, taking it as a memory that I may need to come back to, then brush her off. I stand and step away, unable to look at her without seeing Eren beside her.   
“Leave it Mikasa, just go back to him, I’ll be fine,” I grumble holding my nose to try and get the least amount of blood as possible on Armin’s rug. I don’t hear anything from her, her silence like a looming ghost. Only a moment later do I hear the bedroom door squeak shut. My heart sinks more, I should probably just get rid of it, it’s only been causing me problems lately.   
I slug my way to the empty guest room and drag my corpse into the shower; the grime and blood running down the drain in a swirl of a memory of what happened today. I rest my head on the cold tile hoping that it’ll help ease the throbbing in my skull. There’s been so many things happening today. Mary-Elle was only just this morning, it feels like it’s been years. I try to think of anything besides Mikasa or Eren. My memory stumbles upon Marco, he being the only good thing that arose from this terrible situation. The car ride was weird and awkward, but it was nice to laugh with someone, even if it was about the end of the world. For some reason, I start to cry. Not the gross sobbing in a romance movie where I’m sitting in the fetal position bawling my brains out. I just cry, letting the frustrating emotions out through pathetic tears. It’s a much needed cry, and the alone time is nice, even though it gives me free rein of my thoughts which I don’t appreciate.   
I stumble out of the shower, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and leaving my hair wet to let the water run through the cuts on my chest giving the slightest of burns. I drag myself out of the bathroom preparing myself to make the trek to the Library but am interrupted by the image of Marco sitting on the edge of the bed.   
I freeze in the doorframe, letting the AC from the bedroom help cool my skin. “Uh, hey, I was just cleaning up in here, I’m gonna go downstairs to sleep,” I say feeling an odd tingle of nervousness creep to my fingertips.   
Marco nods noticing my further jacked face. “What happened?” he asks wincing a bit.   
I sigh and ruffle my wet hair with a towel. “A telepath with a nice right hook.” I leave my answer vague to try and protect myself for as long as I can before Marco finds out that I’m a complete dipshit. Hopefully Annie or Mikasa won’t tell anyone about the occasion.   
There’s an awkward silence between us and I notice Marco’s eyes drooping slowly. The poor kid must be exhausted. I mean, I am too, but at least I’m in a house with the people I know and trust. The only person Marco knows here is me, and I’ve only known him for like four hours.   
“Hey, go ahead and catch a shower, Mikasa can probably heal your cuts in the morning, and if you need anything I’ll be in the Library,” I say shuffling past him. I feel a bit of guilt for just leaving him alone. Honestly, he looks like he just needs a hug, but I’m no hugger. When it comes to complaining and inappropriate sarcasm, I’m your guy. But when you need a sympathizer or hand holder, you will be heavily disappointed by me. Go to Armin for that shit.   
He doesn’t say anything as I slowly close the door behind me duffel bag and towel in hand. I drag myself down the hall, using an astronomical amount of restraint to not go into Eren’s room and blast the kid to pieces. This is just how it is now. For the rest of my life apparently, that probably won’t last though the year. Whatever. As long as no one says anything about it I can probably store it in my brain under ‘bad memories I don’t want to go back to that Annie will eventually bring up’ file.   
I shrug on a shirt so I don’t scare Mina or someone as I trot to the Library. I make it down the stairs to find Armin sitting on the last step waiting for me.   
I sigh and run a hand through my wet hair, “Armin, I really can’t do anything else tonight, can it wait till morning?”   
Armin runs his hands down his face and turns to look up at me, his once bright blue eyes worn to almost gray, the color reminds me of Annie. “He didn’t talk much,” he sighs, “Once you left the room, he pretty much resorted to one worded answers.”   
He’s talking about Marco. I honestly couldn’t give a rats ass right now I’m so fucking tired. But Armin is my friend, and he helped me a lot today, and it’s not like I’m gonna get much sleep tonight anyways. I flop onto the bottom step next to him, putting my chin in my hands.   
“What do you think about him?” Armin asks brushing his bangs out of his eyes.   
I think about Marco for a second, if nothing else, he seems powerful enough to keep on our team to save the world. And if it’s any consolation that Annie can’t read his mind, he’s definitely got some supernatural abilities we just haven’t seen yet.   
“He seems to know more about it than us, and I think he’s got some power that we could use,” I say through a tired voice, “I mean, he did save probably half the people in the building when the fire happened, if he hadn’t known then everyone would’ve died, including me.”  
Armin nods slowly, his movements exhausted and worn. “We were watching it on the news, I was about to go up there but Annie said she could still feel you.”   
I turn to him, “Annie could sense me from that far away?” I ask surprised.   
Armin sighs and rubs his eyes, “Yeah, though it hurt her, Mikasa had to piece her back together a bit.”   
Damn. Annie’s power is getting stronger too.   
We both sit there for a second, reminiscing about how easy things were before I brought the apocalypse to his house this morning. “If nothing else,” I sigh scratching the short hair at the base of my skull, “He’s a nice guy and cares about people, I’m thinking we need more of that around here.”  
Armin smiles a bit and nods. I’m about to wish him a goodnight and go to a special couch I’m thinking about in the Library when he clears his throat, turning and looking at me. “Annie said you found Eren and Mikasa.”   
I said I could keep it in if no one mentioned it.   
And I did.   
I stand with a sudden blast of awareness, the adrenaline picking back up in my veins pushing my feet and the rest of my body to the door and out into the South Carolina night. I hear Armin call for me. I ignore him, giving him the advantage to not punch him in the face. I stomp barefoot through the grass, my hands tighten into fists and my breath comes in growling heaves.   
This isn’t fair.   
This isn’t right.   
I shouldn’t have to deal with this right now. Out of all the times Eren and Mikasa could’ve gotten together, it had to be today. Well I guess fuck it, if it’s the end of the world do whatever you want, right? Sure, they have that freedom, but what about me? Supposedly I’m forced to stop the fucking devil from swallowing this stupid ass planet whole meanwhile my ex girlfriend and roommate are fucking in the background.   
This cannot be fair.   
Can’t I spend my last days on earth kicking back, listening to the top 80’s rock classics, with a beer in one hand and a hot person in the other? No, I can’t. I have to run and sweat and bleed and cry, fighting tooth and nail for this unfair world to live. And Marco too. We are the only two prophesied to save this shitty planet, forced into doing something that we don’t want to do. Why can’t things just go back to normal? Why do we have to watch people bleed and scream? Why do we have to watch them die? Why us? Why the fuck does it have to be us?   
I’ve already stomped my way off of Armin’s property and down the street, passing more extravagant houses along the coast. The infamous South Carolina humidity sticks to my face and neck, sending salty sweat to burn the cuts along my skin. My head throbs from my wacked nose and my burning need to hit something. The sight of Eren and Mikasa sleeping so peacefully together makes me want to puke.   
I blast into a wooded area between two mansions and imagine one of the trees as Eren. I send everything I’ve got into the dry bark. My knuckles cry for me to stop only opening more wounds along my hands. The chips sinking into my skin making the pain more therapeutic than anything. I hit the tree for Eren and Mikasa, for Armin talking about it, for Annie punching me in the face, for Marco’s sad eyes, for the stupid fucking prophecy. There’s nothing that can change these things, I just don’t want to deal with them. I don’t want them at all. This is all so unfair. What have I done to deserve this?   
I give the tree one last good hard thwack and collapse against it, sinking into the sandy grass beneath it, crying all over again. I sit against the tree thanking it for it’s support even though I just beat the shit out of it. My knuckles throb and ache with every move I make. I cry until I can’t, letting the sounds of the ocean calm me like they always have. I never really liked the beach, mostly because of the sand, but I do like the water, it’s always been a relaxing scene for me. I look through the gaps in the trees to the moonlight glinting off the ocean.   
I hiccup sighs and let the tears fall unevenly down my face. I want to fall asleep and wake up tomorrow morning, in my bed, no ghosts, no prophecy, no Eren and Mikasa, and act like everything was just a bad dream.   
I watch as Glenn swims around me. My life will never be normal. I will always have to look behind me and hide who I am. There’s no white picket fence, no husband or wife, no kids, no boring job, no Sunday barbques, no summer vacations, no snow days, no movie nights, and no growing old. It will always be sleepless nights, scary dead people, loneliness, shitty writing, weird roommates, and end of the world prophecies. I don’t get normal. Never have, never will.   
My phone rings in my pocket, I didn’t even realize I had it. I assume it’s Armin and plan to ignore it but it’s Sasha. I debate answering it with how I’ll probably sound to her. She’s like my little sister. I don’t really see her much anymore, ever since her and Connie got married they’ve been busy putting together this cute little sandwich shop. Though it’s pretty weird that she’s calling me at almost midnight, so I decide to answer it if something’s wrong.   
I clear my throat and answer, putting my best effort into sounding bored or tired. “Hello?”   
“Duuude, your chapter was a-mazing!” I hear Sasha wail from the phone. “I just got done with it, it was the best thing ever.”  
I laugh wiping my eyes, an amazing feeling of relief comes over me. I can’t tell you how it feels to hear a person’s voice to doesn’t know about the end of the world. “Thanks Sasha.”  
“Whoa, are you okay? You sound like you just smoked a pack, you’re not smoking again are you?” She asks her voice turning to her wannabe mother tone.   
“No no I’m fine, I’ve just...had a long day,” I sigh trying to breath evenly.   
“Ah yes, the long torturous days of a writer who never leaves his apartment, must be difficult,” Sasha says with a light tone. I sit back and let her voice calm me further. She reminds me of home, or a simpler life. I’ve known her since I was twelve from school. She had bounced up to me during lunch and asked for the mac n’ cheese that I wasn’t eating. Ever since then she’s been stealing my food. And through all this time I’ve never told her about the ghost thing. I debated it once, but I don’t want to worry her with that stuff, she’s too important to me to do that too.   
“Shut up,” I say. I hear Sasha giggle and it makes me smile.   
“Well that’s all I really wanted to tell you, we have to get together for lunch sometime, maybe tomorrow?” she asks.  
I sigh with the weight of the world on my chest. “Yeah we’ll have to get together soon, but I think I’m busy tomorrow, I’ll text you if nothing else.”   
“Yeah yeah okay, just stop by the shop whenever you get the chance you vampire. Go outside once in the while, it might do you good.” I laugh and she sighs, “Well goodnight then, sleep well if that’s something you do.”   
“By Sash, tell Connie I said hi,” I sigh closing my eyes against the darkness.   
“Connie! Jean says hi!” I hear Sasha belt away from the phone, another voice grumbles something in the background that I can’t depict. “He says he’s asleep,” she says back into the phone.   
“Buzz kill,” I grumble.  
“I know right?” We both snicker and she sighs again, “Well goodnight for real.”  
“Goodnight for real,” I sigh and the line cuts off.   
I rest my head back against the tree and think about Sasha, man I miss her. She has a light in her soul that no one I’ve met can really measure up to. The sinking feeling in my chest tells me I’m scared about what might happen to her in these next moments of the planets death. I straighten up, if I don’t have any other reason to save the world, then do it for Sasha, she doesn’t deserve to go out in flames and fear.   
I pull myself off the ground and stumble out of the woods looking like I just turned from wolf to man. I drag my body along the sidewalk back towards Armin’s house, I don’t really know how far away I am, but I’m sure I’ll come across it at some point.   
The night has always been kind of loud in South Carolina, it’s the ocean and the bugs and the people. I appreciate the noise though, it helps distract me from my thoughts. I look up at the stary sky in love with the way they’re not obstructed by the light pollution. It calms me further, reminding me that this stupid planet is also beautiful, another reason to keep fighting.   
My phone rings again in my pocket, I assume it’s Sasha again, calling to say something she forgot earlier, but it’s Armin. I swallow the pride to ignore it and hesitantly answer letting him spit words into the speaker without me even saying a hello.   
“You have to get back quick,” he blurts into the phone. I hear someone screaming and people yelling, Armin is out of breath and panicky, “It’s Marco, something’s wrong.”   
Without realizing it, I’m already running. My barefeet smack against the sidewalk and I ignore the tiny rocks that pinch my skin. “What’s happening?” I breath into the phone.   
“I-I don’t know, he was- we were all just going to bed and-and we heard screaming and it was coming from Marco’s room and I don’t know if he’s sleeping or or if- his eyes are white and he keeps calling your name,” Armin sputters.   
“He’s having a dream, I’m coming,” I go to hang up but yell back into the phone, “Do NOT touch him.” I hang up and sprint along the row of beach houses. Finally coming up on Armin’s iron gates. I blaze down his front lawn and crash through the open door past a waiting worried Mina.   
I can already hear the hoarse cries coming from upstairs, they’re barely human like. They’re all echoed and howling like a wounded animal. I take the stairs two at a time and whip myself into the open guest room. The cries are mind rattling, it feels like the noise is ripping right into my mind and I can’t even hear myself think.  
Marco is on the bed flat on his back, his hands twisted in the sheets that are left on the bed, the rest are on the floor. He looks like he’s doing the best he can to fight against the pain of the dream. He’s breathing is in vicious wheezes, his pale white eyes gaping at the ceiling. He’s sweating and some of the cuts along his chest have reopened against the tension on his skin.   
Everyone is in the room yelling at each other to do something or to not touch him. Levi and Mikasa are the closest, both of them hovering over Marco whispering their ancient languages in attempts to heal or ease Marco’s pain. Levi’s fingers hover over Marco’s chest omitting this foggy gray mist that seems to be doing nothing. Armin and Annie are yelling over the commotion, Annie’s nose is bleeding and Armin is telling her to stop for some reason. Eren is standing by the door with his ears covered and a wince on his face.   
I make my way around everyone and go to pull Mikasa away but she fights back. I grab her arm and try to get her away from Marco but she only starts yelling her words louder none of them doing anything.   
“Mikasa!” I yell at her but she ignores me. Without a second thought I turn to Eren to looks at me through slitted eyes. “Eren!” I yell for him trying to motion Mikasa towards him. He understands what I’m trying to say and stumbles his way to Mikasa and puts an arm around her waist and pulls her away from the bed.   
With Mikasa out of range I turn to Levi who seems to be the most calm even though his cloud of gray magic is doing literally nothing on Marco’s psychic power. I take a second to revel in someone being more powerful than him. Then try to yell for him to break his spell, “Levi! Let me through!”   
Mikasa must have learned her stubbornness from Levi because he doesn’t back down either. I turn to search the room for someone to drag him away, but Levi doesn’t feel love so there’s no one he’s wouldn’t try and punch if they tried to sweep him away. I turn to Annie, the next strongest person in the room, who is being restrained by Armin.  
“Annie!” I point at Levi. Both Armin and Annie get the idea and grab Levi at his arms and pull him back. Fucking Ackerman’s.   
Now it’s only Marco and I. His wails make me feel dizzy. Tears stream down his cheeks and it hurts to see him like this. This is so unfair.   
I remember what happened at the college, this is nothing like his vision then. He said that he’d never had one just because he touched someone. But then, he was frozen and letting the vision just wash over him. Now he’s fighting it and screaming to try and claw away. I remember the burning cold that stung my fingers as he gripped my hand with superhuman strength.   
I don’t know what to do. Now that I’ve come and shoved everyone away I’m supposed to know what to do. I got nothing.   
JEAN!   
My name rattles though my head with a furious punch almost knocking me over, I have to hold onto the side table to keep from falling. I look to Annie who’s still holding Levi back with Armin, she shakes her head at my question if that cry was her. She points a shaky finger at the bed.   
It was Marco.   
Everyone in the room his clutching their heads against Marco’s cry through their minds, Armin had said that he was calling for me.   
Without thinking, I grab Marco at his trembling shoulders. And everything stops.   
The wails and the mind boggling screams cut off suddenly. I hear everyone in the room breathing like they’ve all just run a marathon. Marco’s thrashing has stopped, he’s frozen, just like at the college. As for me, that same frozen pain shoots daggers up my arms, ten times stronger than it was before. My hands are locked onto Marco’s shoulders, even if I wanted to pull away, I couldn’t. But I don’t want to. Everything has calmed, it’s working. Although, Marco’s still tensed in his frozen position gaping at the ceiling, and it doesn’t really look like he’s breathing.   
My breath picks up as I try and take some of the second hand pain of the vision. My arms pop veins and my fingertips are flushed white. I try to focus on Marco, hoping I’m helping and this vision will end soon. I can hear hushed whispers among the room. My busted knuckles start to bleed a bright red as I hold onto him. I grunt against the pain as it continues to crawl up my biceps and through my shoulders beckoning it’s way to my chest.   
“Marco,” I wheeze out, my arms start to tremble and sweat lines along my eyebrow. This better not last much longer.   
“Jean?” I hear from behind me, it’s distant and hazy but I think it’s Armin. My vision starts to blur as it tunnels around Marco, still frozen and white eyed. I hear whispers start to creep in the back of my skull. I first think it’s everyone in the room coming to their senses, but then I can hear that it’s voices that I don’t recognize. The sounds grow louder and louder. I hear them screaming and crying ‘save me’ or ‘help us,’ it’s a sea of people. Their voices tug at the thin strand of emotion called empathy in my head threatening to tear it.   
I start to cry, the pain and voices and confusion making it way to my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. The pain grows, spreading to my throat and abdomen. I feel like I can’t breathe, I wheeze out one last call for Marco and I stop breathing. The blood rushes to my head mixing with the cold pain making it remarkable that I’m even sitting up right now.   
Right as I feel like I’m going to pass out, everything stops. I fall on top of Marco, my hands finally free of him, my lungs gasp for sweet sweet gulps of air and I can see the blurry image of Marco’s eyes return to a pretty shade of brown.   
I roll off of him wheezing like an overused squeaky toy, resting my head on the pillow next to his, letting the cold pain fade from my muscles, and wait for him to come to. He blinks out of his haze, his breath coming out in gasps like mine. He realizes he’s awake and sits up abruptly, he scrubs his hands over his face and notices my legs that are still laying over his and turns to me.   
He looks down at me with that sickening worried face, I hope to God that there isn’t going to be another fire because I don’t think I’ll be able to fucking stand let alone run out of the house. Through my heavy gasps I let out a breathy, “Hey.”  
Marco brings a hand over his mouth and tears start to spill over his cheeks again, I somehow feel guilty for saying something.  
“Oh my god,” he mumbles into his hand, his breath still coming out ragged and panicky. I struggle to sit up and wrap a sore arm around his back, my actions moving faster than my thoughts. He continues to whisper his “Oh my god”’s into his hand as he starts to sob. I wrap my other arm around him and he buries his face into the crook of my neck. I welcome him and hold his head with a bloody hand. Hushing his cries and trying to calm him by rubbing circles on his trembling back.   
We stay like this for a while. I don’t know what Marco saw but it had to be a doozy. If it had anything to do with the screaming voices in my head then it couldn’t have been anything good. We sit there in a mess of cries and sweat and drying blood in front of everyone who are still recovering from what just happened.   
Marco’s shuddering breaths start to calm and his arms wiggle their way from inbetween us to wrap around me. His pull is fragile and hesitant but I’m sure it’s all he can give with what he just went through. His breath calms enough that it’s even and shallow falling into the rhythm of my own.   
I open my eyes and look to see if anyone is still in the room. Armin is standing with Annie, I give him a nod of affirmation and he pulls Annie out of the room with him. Eren, Mikasa, and Levi have already left, probably back to bed to try and forget about it. Easy for them, they don’t have a scarred memory burned into their brain about how the world is going to end like Marco probably does. I wonder if he’s ever gotten and full nights sleep either.   
I start to pull away from Marco but his hold tightens, he sniffs and keeps his head tucked in it’s spot resting on my shoulder. “Please don’t leave,” he says in a shaky whisper.   
I rub another calming circle on his back. “I’m not, I was just going to turn off the light,” I whisper back.   
He sighs out a fragile, “Okay.” And I slip out of his arms and stumble to flick off the light. I close the door and struggle to find the thrown blankets on the floor and put them back on the bed. I crawl into the sheets beside Marco and pull the blankets over us. He immediately goes and wraps his arms around my torso and I pull him closer restoring my arms to hold him around his broad shoulders resting my cheek on the top of his head. He lets out a shaky sigh and his body relaxes against mine.   
I wait for him to say something about the vision, but I won’t make him. Armin said that he wouldn’t open up when he was asking him questions. So I’ll let him tell me if he wants to, otherwise I don’t mind laying here with him, I appreciate not having to be alone, I’m sure he does too.   
I wonder why he stopped when I touched him, is it because it was me or can anyone do that? I should probably not think about anything and try to get some sleep, hoping Marco follows suit.   
I sigh and nudge my face deeper into Marco’s hair, he smells like sweat and shampoo. Marco tenses up suddenly, I feel his shoulder muscles freeze and his heart thrum. I tense with him hoping that he’s not about to have another vision.   
“Jean?” he says in a worried whisper.   
“Yeah?” I ask trying to sound calm.  
“I...I think we’re going to die,” he shudders and his arms tighten around me. I let out a shaky sigh and comb a hand through his tangled hair.   
“I thought so,” I whisper, probably not being the best thing to say right now but it’s sadly the truth. “Guess that’s part of the deal huh?”   
His body relaxes and he sighs through his nose, “This can’t be fair.”   
My heart pulls and I close my eyes, trying to focus on Marco and not what’s at stake. “It’s not.” I turn and press a kiss into his hair, I don’t really think about it, it just feels right. Marco pulls me closer as I do.   
I’ve only known this guy for half a day, but it feels right to be next to him. There’s no worrying or hesitation, it just is. I’m comfortable and calm with him. I don’t know, maybe it’s a prophecy or destiny thing, or maybe I just don’t care anymore. But I want to be next to him. And it seems like he’s not really against it.   
A sinking feeling sags my punctured heart about me getting close to someone as the world ends. I try to ignore it and argue that it’s better than being alone. So what if Marco an I get close, it was kind of destined that way, right?  
I sleep easy next to him. If I was by myself I wouldn’t have even been able to close my eyes. I don’t dream, I’m not woken up by a ghost, and I don’t think about the end of the world. It’s just me and Marco and the night, it’s all I need. I hope again that I will wake up in the morning, with no prophecy and no heartache. It would be nice to wake up next to Marco though, guess this whole day wasn’t such a sham.


	5. You Are Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be one hell of a chapter. Drink some water, put on your war paint, get your cat.  
> xx

I wake up next to Marco.  
The room is still dark but I can feel his head on my chest and smell his salty sweet hair. I have no fucking clue what time it is. I hope we’ve slept for days. Maybe it’ll make the end of the world go by faster. I want to check my phone or open the curtains but I don’t want to be the asshole that wakes a peaceful Marco up. I’ll just go back to sleep. Maybe we can sleep some more days off.  
-  
The next time I wake up is not so nice.  
I startle into consciousness from the blinding light that flashes through the room swallowing up all of the peaceful darkness. I curse under my breath and use my arm to cover my eyes. The movement reminds me painfully that I had just beat the shit out of a giant tree last night sending pulling tension through my sore muscles. Even better, my arm only nudges the bridge of my nose and an eruption of blunt force sends a throbbing drum through my face. I curse some more and fail to ease any of the pain.  
Marco shifts next to me rolling off my chest and leaving a cold spot where he used to be. I open an eye to see him sit up and stretch giving a cute little squeaking noise. He runs a hand through his hair and looks down at me smiling with tired eyes. I’m happy to see him smile, even though it seems entirely unnatural from what he went through only a few hours ago.  
“Get up,” I hear a low grunt from the other side of the room, “We’ve got work to do.” I look towards the blinding light and notice Levi in jeans and a t-shirt. I sit up and feel a dizzy spell as I try to calm the throbbing in my head. Levi starts to trot out of the room and I call after him.  
“ ‘Ey Levi, did I ever tell you that I fuckin’ hate you?” I say slurring my words together through a sleep thick voice.  
“Meet us downstairs Kirstein,” he says and leaves the room. I groan and fall back on the bed, regretting it immediately. I wine against the stupid pain and let myself think about falling asleep again.  
“You look like shit,” Marco says above me, his voice sounds low and groggy, I shamefully think it’s hot as fuck.  
I grimace and comb a hand through my tangled hair. “Feel like shit.”  
Marco shifts and takes one of my hands that’s resting on my stomach. He holds my palm and runs his fingers over my swollen knuckles, each of them giving a throb of pain as he does so. His touch is gentle and caring, it swells my heart with a warm fuzzy feeling that I try to suppress.  
“What did you do last night?” he asks in a hushed voice wincing at the worst of the wounds.  
“Don’t ask,” I sigh pulling my hand from his. I lazily sit up holding my head feeling one hell of a headache brewing. Marco looks at me with puppy dogs eyes, for a moment I see them as the pale white they are when he has a vision and the anxiety of what happened last night comes back to rest in my gut. “We should get downstairs, they’ll probably send Eren up next,” I shrug.  
Marco nods and scratches his bare shoulder. I stumble out of bed with the sheets tangled in my legs and my hazy vision making me look like an awakening Frankenstein's monster. Marco get outs of bed much more graceful than I and shuffles his way to the bathroom in only his boxers. I take a moment to check him out, watching the little swing to his hips and the movement of muscles in his back. Hello Professor, come teach me a thing or two.  
“You know I can see you?” Marco mumbles without turning around. My heart skips as I make panicky eye contact with him in the bathroom mirror and flush a dark shade of red turning quickly and almost falling over.  
Shit shit shit.  
Marco laughs and closes the bathroom door behind him. God, the fuck is wrong with me? And when I start checking him out? Fuck me, why was I cursed to be prophesied with a hot guy? I’m gonna make an idiot out of myself trying to ogle him when we’re in a near death experience or something and get us both killed. The end of the world won’t be the death of me, that bod will. I fucking hate myself.  
After a few minutes of self loathing, Marco comes back out of the bathroom leaning in the doorway, still only wearing his boxers. Curse him.  
“Hey, uh, you don’t by chance have some extra clothes, do you?” he asks with a blush coloring his freckled cheeks.  
I straighten up and run a hand through my hair. “Uh, I don’t really know if they’ll fit you,” I sputter. Marco nods and starts to creep back into the bathroom. Just as an idea forms I call after him, “Wawait, I got just the thing.”  
I trot out of the room and skip down the stairs, and hop out to my car. The morning is surprisingly cool. Just yesterday it was a ripe 85 degrees, but now it feels like it’s in the 60’s. I dig through my car and smile an evil grin when I find what I’m looking for. I skip back to the house and up the stairs fucking giddy with what I carry back to Marco’s room.  
He’s in the bathroom looking at the random cuts that scatter his face wincing at some of the ones that are a bit swollen. I stand at the door with a wicked smile, Marco turns and looks at the sin of a sweatshirt in my hands.  
He looks from me, to the sweatshirt, and back at me. “Really?”  
The smiling makes my nose hurt but I think I’m so fucking funny. “What? I think it suits you.” He sighs out a smile and takes the sweatshirt muttering a ‘thank you’.  
I try not to laugh as he pulls it over his head and looks down at the beautiful touristy graphic on the front. He smiles and rubs his nose. “At least it’s fashionable,” he says resting his hands on his hips. We both start laughing and I look at him as he stands in the bathroom, scrapes and cuts adoring his face, a bright lime green sweatshirt, hands on his hips, and no pants; looking like the world's saddest super hero. I don’t deserve this.  
“Alright alright I think my jeans are salvageable so I’ll just wear those,” he sighs, his blush reddening as I continue to laugh at him. He closes the bathroom door and leaves me to my own hysterics in the bedroom. I shrug off my clothes, finding my duffel right in the entrance of the room, assuming Armin probably brought it up here, and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a hoodie.  
Once we’re finished, Marco and I trail our way downstairs to the kitchen. Armin and Annie are standing at the island talking down a bouncing Eren. Mikasa and Levi are at the small kitchen table muttering in hushed voices. As we enter the modern clean kitchen, Mina immediately stops us with mugs of coffee. Marco thanks her profusely and she blushes at it. Armin sees us and drops his conversation and shuffles over to Marco. He rests his hand on his elbow and asks him in a hushed voice if he’s okay, Marco replies that he’s doing fine. What a mom, Armin.  
Armin leads us to the island and introduces Eren and Annie to Marco.  
“Marco, this is Annie Leonhart and Eren Jaeger,” he says. Annie blinks and Eren smiles like a kid in a candy store. “And over there is Mikasa and Levi Ackerman.” The duo only looks at Marco with their dullness. Marco does a small wave and mutters a little ‘hi.’  
I step up behind Marco and look at the contestants. “Annie’s a telepath, Mikasa’s a healer, and Levi’s a witch,” I say into his ear. I look down at Eren and grin, “And Eren’s bait.”  
Eren’s face twists, his green eyes raging challenge, “Are you-”  
“Anyways,” Armin cuts in before Eren and I can start fighting, I wink at him and he glares back, “We need a plan, we’ve already seen the temperature drop thirty degrees overnight, and we’ve got to find where the breach in the dimension is going to happen before it does, that way we can avoid collateral damage as much as possible.”  
My memory flashes to when there was a breach in the dimensions only a half a year ago. I was the one who had to close it up. It was spitting out spirits like a popcorn machine. They were everywhere, the streets of Charleston felt like New York on New Year’s Eve. It nearly killed me, it nearly killed Armin, and I’m pretty sure Annie was dead for like a solid minute. I said I was never going to do that again. Now it looks like I have no choice.  
I still have nightmares about it. My soul was torn and clawed at by every spirit within an arm’s reach. I couldn’t leave Armin’s house without being swallowed up in the sea of them. It’s was horrifying.  
My head weighs heavy with the thoughts of nearly getting Armin, Annie, and I killed. And the impending doom of having to do it again with the stakes even higher. I trail to the table next to Mikasa, sitting and holding my head in my hands.  
Armin pauses for a moment then proceeds, “The only way we really have a chance at winning this is getting to the breach and making sure it stays closed, the only problem is: we don’t know how to keep a portal like that closed off.”  
The room goes quiet. Armin’s usually the man with the plan but for something like this, it’s never been done, not on this scale, so there’s nowhere for him to learn. I’m assuming Armin’s plan was Marco, but Marco doesn’t really seem to know anything unless he’s hiding it. If Armin has no plan, then we’re probably fucked.  
“It’s impossible,” I hear Levi grumble, “You can’t close a breach from this dimension. Once you find out where it is you’re already dead.”  
“Then there must be another dimension we can get to before it gets to this plain,” Armin says his eyes narrowing down at his coffee cup.  
“Sure, if you’re a ghost,” Levi says unamused with the whole situation.  
I notice Marco flick his eyes to me and back to Armin after that comment, somehow it’s unsettling.  
Armin grinds his jaw and taps his fingers along the counter, his super human smarts making a run for their money. Annie stands beside him leaning on the back counter nursing her coffee, she watches Armin’s fingers thrum putting all her faith in him as much as the rest of us. Marco sighs and takes a gulp of his mug, nodding at it in surprise. Mikasa and Levi have already finished their coffee, and I’m about ready to grab a refill. The only person without coffee is Eren, who seems to be jittering just from the fumes of caffeine. He’s such a freak. I catch him take in side glances at Marco, eyeing him up, hoping he’ll explode into a vision again so he can watch.  
I rub my eyes and lean back in my chair, looking between Marco and Armin. “What if we could wrangle up a pack of spirits that could help protect the breach?” I ask not really thinking it’s a valid idea but hoping that it helps Armin's creative juices flowing.  
Armin shakes his head. “I don’t think so, the only way we’d be able to persuade a spirit into helping us is if we had a strong connection to them in their previous life,” he says his eyebrows furrowing under his bangs.  
“What about me?” I ask.  
He shakes his head again, “Even you. You don’t choose the spirits that follow you, they choose you, it won’t work the other way around.”  
I huff out a breath of frustration and look back to Marco. His jeans are ripped and dirty from the fire yesterday. I smile at his sweatshirt. I hate that thing so fucking much, but Marco wears it like a champ. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had one stashed away at home. He’s swirling his coffee around in his blue mug, lost in thought. I still don’t know if he knows anything, it’s probably killing Armin.  
“What if…” Marco says into his cup, “What if we were able to get someone onto the other side, and have them keep the breach closed from there?” He shyly looks up at Armin who seems suspicious by his offer.  
“But then we’d have to...kill someone,” Armin says his concentration lines in his forehead deepening.  
Marco’s mouth twists and he takes a quick glance at me then back to his mug. I notice Armin continuing to think about the idea. He never said it wouldn’t work, he only said that we’d have to kill someone. Anxiety creeps into my throat when I remember that Armin doesn’t see death as the worse thing that could happen to someone, he believes it’s a part of life and tends to only use the matter as a factor - not a determinate.  
“What if we could bring them back,” Mikasa says in a hushed voice. Everyone turns to her. Her speech always goes noticed, usually just surprising everyone, Mikasa never spares time for useless words.  
I look at her though the black strands of hair covering half her face. Levi is staring at her through a glare. They’re both so calm in this situation, so bored. They freak me out. Fucking Ackermans.  
“For someone to die and come back, someone else has to die,” Armin says like it’s an emotionless fact.  
Mikasa peers up at him through her hair. “So?”  
“One life versus the entire planet seems fair enough,” I shrug. If nothing else, I’ll offer my own damn life, I didn’t think I’d make it out of this anyways. Plus, there’s nothing really for me to stay for.  
Armin bites his lower lip. “What do you think?” he asks Levi.  
The witch sighs and flicks his cold eyes to Armin. “It’d work,” he says then adds, “If they’re able to find the rift in the spirit world, that is.”  
Armin considers this nodding. He looks over at Annie who looks back at him blandly. Everyone is watching and waiting for his answer. Somehow Armin was made the anonymous leader of this end of the world club. Fine by me, less unpopular decisions I have to make.  
“Say we did do this, what would we need to let someone die and still be self aware in the spirit world and then bring them back?” Armin asks mostly to Levi.  
Levi huffs out a breath. “A ton of shit,” he grumbles, “Half of it being some rare black magic market stuff.”  
“But we can get it,” Eren chirps, “If it’s out there, we can find it.” I roll my eyes at Eren’s optimism. The shit Levi’s talking about is collectable and expensive out the wazoo. It wouldn’t surprise me if most of it was illegal. Levi and Mikasa are probably the only two that can get their hands on that kind of stuff, possibly Armin.  
“The end of existence versus grimey magic pimps? I’m thinking the apocalypse trumps all,” Marco says raising an eyebrow at Armin. “And if it’s any constellation I know some people who could probably help us find the stuff we need.”  
I notice Levi raise an interested eyebrow at Marco, I feel an odd lightness of pride in my chest. Levi hasn’t even talked to Marco yet and he’s already impressed (well, as impressed as Levi can get.) Although, I’m pretty sure if Marco says anything to Levi his credibility will drop incredibly, Levi doesn’t really like optimistic people, or people in general for that matter.  
Armin looks from Marco, to Levi, to me, and to Annie. He sighs and straightens out tucking a strand of blonde hair behind his ear. “Okay then, first thing we need is supplies. Levi and Mikasa are on to make the list, from there, we’ll split up what we need and get it all as soon as we can. I’ll try and find where the breach is going to be on both dimensions, and in the meantime...” he says looking from me to Eren, “Try to stay out of trouble.”  
A mix of anxiety and adrenaline swirls through my veins. Marco looks at me and hides a smile. Levi and Mikasa stand and leave the room, both of them all business and no fun, already on the move to conjure up a list of the funky magic ingredients for our saving the world soup.  
This is good. We have a plan. It may be a shitty haphazard plan, but it’s a start.  
I stand moving to make an exit for some shoes hoping I can make it to Sasha’s for lunch, but Armin stops me by grabbing my sleeve and turning me back around. He narrows his eyes at me and Marco who’s turning to leave with me.  
“Please be careful,” he says in a hushed voice and his expression narrowing into something confident, “Always be on the lookout. You guys are the only two prophesied so that puts a target on your back for all things supernatural.” He swallows and looks from Marco to me, “That fire yesterday wasn’t accident, they’re trying to end you before you can do anything about saving the world, okay?” He sighs and steps back letting go of my arm, his worried face back on, “Just stay low and don’t get killed.”  
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Okay, Mom, we’ll be fine,” I sass pulling Marco by the sleeve out of the kitchen. I act like Armin’s words meant nothing but he’s right. The fire yesterday had to be on purpose, things like that don’t just happen all the time. I’m sure Marco’s shaken up too, but we’ve both gotten used to ignoring things we don’t want to think about anymore.  
Marco follows me back up to our room without saying anything. I stuff on my shoes and try to make my nose look as normal as possible. I don’t really have a plan for today but I’m hoping to have at least one last normal day of my life. See Sasha, go to the beach, have a drink at Poe’s, and maybe visit some of my favorite spirits. Marco watches me as I wince trying to scrape some of the dried blood from the bridge of my nose. Annie really did a number on me, and I’m pretty sure the vision didn’t help it heal any.  
“You said Mikasa was the Healer, right?” he asks leaning in the doorway to the bathroom with his hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket.  
“Yep,” I say. I accidentally hit the most swollen part with my thumb and jerk back with a hiss, cursing under my breath.  
“Can’t you just get her to heal you?” he asks watching me like I’m some sort of R rated slasher movie.  
I sigh and turn, accepting that I’ll just have to look like Rocky and step past Marco. “Not today,” I grunt digging through my bag for my wallet.  
“Why not?” Marco asks innocently. I sigh forcefully and stuff my thin wallet and keys into my pockets.  
“Because we’re not really on speaking terms right now,” I huff. Marco hums strolling over to the windows and looking out to the mansions outdoor grand fountain in the side gardens.  
“I’m assuming you don’t really have to talk to be healed,” Marco mutters to the window. I glare at him from across the room even though he’s not looking.  
“Drop it,” I growl stomping to leave the room. Marco follows me on bouncing feet.  
He continues to mutter to himself like I can’t hear him, “I mean, you wouldn’t have to go around looking like a newborn zombie if you’d just-”  
“I said drop it Marco,” I demand again as my hands curl into fists, I’m still really not ready to be cool with Eren or Mikasa. Marco finally clamps his yapper and we head downstairs.  
As we descend the grand staircase into the arch entryway, I notice the back of Eren’s fuzzy head at the landing of the stairs and I quickly debate going back up, but he’s already turned around and noticed his new victim: Marco.  
“Hi Marco, I’m Eren,” he says sticking his hand out before we even get off the steps. I hear Marco give a small laugh, taking Eren’s hand once he can reach it.  
“Hi Eren, I believe we met earlier,” he smiles. “I’m glad you’re on the team, we could use all the help we can get.” It’s like Marco just told Eren that he was the most important person in the world. Eren’s green eyes light up and his smile widens. I’m pretty sure he blushes. What a fucking dork.  
“Thanks, you too. Armin says you’re really powerful, I mean, even Levi couldn’t match up to you last night when-”  
“Alright that’s enough,” I cut in grabbing Marco’s elbow and pulling him away from Eren and towards the door.  
Eren glowing expression dulls dramatically, “Hey I-”  
“Bye Eren!” I shout and slam the door behind me. Marco shrugs out of my grasp and frowns at me. “What?” I spit back at his pouty face.  
“He just wants to help you know,” he grumps trotting down the steps to the car. I snort and roll my eyes.  
“No, he wants to fuck you, believe me I’ve been down that road. Eren’s just a thirsty fanboy of the supernatural,” I say pulling my hoodie closer around me against the out of the ordinary cool breeze.  
Marco rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible,” he sighs.  
I shrug and climb into the car. “I try to be,” I say with a dazzling smile. Marco snorts and we pull out of the parking lot.  
After a few miles of swamp lands and empty intersections Marco pipes up. “Where are we going anyways?”  
I drive the bridge back to Charleston looking over the sparkling water. “I wanted to run a few errands before the end of the world happens,” I say.  
Marco nods pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands. “Do you mind if we make a stop somewhere?”  
“Shoot.”  
“I need to get some stuff from my sister's house,” he mumbles with a breathy sigh.  
“Food first.” I drive with the intention to go to Sasha and Connie’s sandwich shop. I go the long way to avoid riding past Marco’s school for both of our benefit. I don’t really remember where the shop is or what it’s even called, but I’m pretty sure it’s just before historical Charleston by a Starbucks. I decide that we can probably walk to find it and park at a meter.  
We walk emptier than usual streets of South Carolina. In the summer, this place is packed with lost tourists. Now that it’s September not as many people come around, but I think it’s also because it’s cold today. Cold being sixties for the south. These people like their sun and heat, half of them move here just for it.  
I keep my hands stuffed in my hoodie and Marco has his in his sweatshirt. The fresh air is nice though. No stuffy bedrooms or libraries or kitchens filled with the hushed voices going on about the apocalypse.  
“Have a certain place in mind?” Marco asks beside me. I stare down the sidewalk seeing a few metal tables and chairs outside a shop that I’m thinking is Sasha’s place.  
“Yeah, my friends have this sandwich place down here. I kind of wanted to see them before I can’t,” I say trying to settle the creeping sadness that pulls at my chest.  
“Oh...right,” Marco murmurs.  
We come up on a glass windowed cafe that’s named ‘Sandwiches.’ I snort thinking that they could’ve come up with something better but I’m sure Connie had to restrain Sasha from calling it something stupid. I open the door for Marco and a little bell rings. I step in after Marco and look around only vaguely familiar with the place. There’s a few people scattered about eating sandwiches in silence and familiar 80’s tunes quietly play through the speakers.  
“Grab us a table, and I’ll get the food, anything you want?” I say stepping past the lime green professor.  
He shrugs and smiles, “I’m easy.” I nod and saunter up to the sparsely decorated front counter reading the chalkboard menu hanging behind the desk. I tap the silver bell sitting on the counter and wait.  
Sasha pokes her head out of a swinging door and squeaks, “Jean!” she skips out around the counter and runs into me with a giant hug. I laugh and wince at the same time hugging her back.  
She steps back and her bright smile fades. “You have quite the habit of being regularly beat up, you know that?” she says with a pout to her lips. I roll my eyes and subconsciously pull my sleeves over my knuckles hoping she doesn’t see.  
“Yeah yeah, you sound like Connie,” I grumble with a smile.  
“Next thing you know I’ll be going bald,” she shrugs, we both laugh and she skips to the other side of the counter. She taps a few buttons on the monitor and looks up at me. “What would you like, whatever it is it’s on the house.”  
I stuff my hands in my pockets and scan the menu again. I’m not surprised they have so many damn sandwiches; all of which I’m sure Sasha played a major part in taste testing. I look down at her and shrug, “You pick.”  
She lights up and bites her lip, then punches a bunch of buttons.  
“Oh, and make that two,” I say taking a quick glance at Marco across the room who looks like he’s texting on his phone.  
“Got it,” she says subconsciously then catches herself. She looks back up at me with a raised eyebrow.  
“Got company,” I mutter sticking a thumb toward Marco. Sasha’s eyes light up with curiosity and excitement.  
“Is he company company or company company?” she says with waggling eyebrows.  
I roll my eyes and try to hide a blush. “He’s just a friend Sasha, don’t attack him.”  
She sighs and shrug. “I guess I shouldn’t expect much, I’m surprised you even have a friend with how often you leave your coffin.”  
“I’m not a vampire either,” I grumble.  
“Yeah that one you’ll never get me to believe,” she says. I roll my eyes again and she finishes my order, ripping the long white paper and clipping it to a window behind her. She turns back to me with another suggesting side glance at Marco, “Now go over there and sit with your friend and I’ll meet you with your sandwiches.”  
I shake my head. “Thanks Sasha,” I mumble trailing back to Marco.  
“Oh, and drinks are over there!” she says pointing at the end of the counter, I give her a thumbs up and she trots back behind the double doors.  
I grab some waters on my way to the table, trying not to wince as my knuckles give a familiar burn. I plop down at the small round table Marco chose by the window handing him his water.  
“Is that your friend?” he asks putting his phone in his stomach pocket.  
I nod taking a swig of water. “Yeah, she’s like my sister.” Marco smiles and fiddles with the label on his plastic bottle.  
“She’s funny, and loud,” he says his smile growing wider.  
I raise an eyebrow at him that he looks sheepishly up at, his puppy dog eyes widening. “Eavesdrop much?”  
“Maybe a little,” he shrugs trying to hide a grin. I roll my eyes and give him the death glare. “She made you blush.”  
“Seriously?” I spit at him, he starts to giggle, my death glare deepens. “You’ll regret it,” I threaten. He just laughs more and I have to resist a smile, I ignore that little voice in my head telling me that Marco looks cute when he laughs.  
“Anyway,” Marco sighs, “I think I’ve got something that’ll help our little situation,” he says with a flitter of his fingers.  
“You mean the end of the world?” I grumble crossing my arms.  
“Whatever you want to call it,” he says smiling at his own joke, “But there’s a journal that was my mom’s, she wrote down all her visions in it, there might be something in there that we can use.”  
I nod doing a quick look around to make sure no one is listening to us talk about visions and the end of the world. “Sounds good,” I mutter watching Marco’s eyes unfocus as he stares out the window. “Where’s your mom then?”  
He blinks out of his haze and flicks his eyes from me to the table. “Oh, uh, she...she died,” he says wiping his hand across the table wiping at invisible crumbs trying to look natural.  
I swear colorfully at the gods for cursing Marco to have to deal with me for the end of the eternity. I suck so bad when it comes to dealing with people who have lost a loved one. I am so shit at comforting. I see dead people as just being - dead. And half the time, I see them as an annoyance or a chore. I am the least capable person to sympathize for the ones who have to deal with loss.  
“Oh, that’s too bad- I mean...that’s-I’m sorry-I’m s-sorry for your loss...Marco,” I stumble avoiding eye contact. I wait for Marco to say something because I will definitely fuck it up if I try talking anymore.  
“You kind of suck at this,” Marco says, I look up at him and he’s watching me with pity. Pity? He’s looking at me with pity after he just told me that his mom died. I stare back at him totally speechless. He shrugs, “I mean, I guess it’s difficult to understand how people feel when someone dies when you can literally see dead people all the time.”  
I open my mouth to speak but nothing really comes out, I’m just staring at him like a deer in headlight. I almost forgot he was a psychology professor.  
“I just wish I could see her one last time,” he sighs looking down at my hands. He blinks and then smiles.“But thanks anyway, for the effort, that is,” he says fiddling with his water bottle again.  
“Cheer up Jean, you like you’ve seen a ghost,” I hear Connie chirp as he waltzes towards us with our food.  
I clear my throat and straighten up flustering a smile at Connie. “H-Hey man,” I sputter at him. He sets plastic red baskets in front of us, our sandwiches looking like they’ve cannibalized a dozen other sandwiches.  
“Your first mistake was letting Sasha choose your food,” he says putting his hands on his hips. “She calls this winner ‘The Sasha’.”  
Marco smiles up at Connie, “It looks great, thank you,” he says like a fucking saint. Connie looks down at him and grins, surprised by his kindness as well.  
“I’m Connie, Sasha’s better half,” he charms. The two shake hands and Marco smiles some more.  
“Hi I’m Marco, nice to meet you,” he says.  
“So are you two...uh…” Connie starts to mumble with the grace of a chainsaw as he points between Marco and I.  
“No, Connie, we’re not,” I huff already cursing Sasha in my head. I notice Marco’s freckled cheeks start to flush a shade of pink. I smirk at him unwillingly.  
“Oh well Sasha said...nevermind,” he sighs pulling up a chair and sitting down. Speak of the devil, Sasha comes bouncing up to our table and worms a chair between Connie and I.  
Sasha’s immediate instinct is to embarrass me, so she of course goes for Marco. She scares him with her wide brown eyes and bright smile, sticking her hand over Connie out to him.  
“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, Jean doesn’t bring many friends around,” she says with a little giggle. I’m going to shoot her.  
Marco blushes out a smile and takes Sasha’s hand and gives it a shake, “Heh, thanks, my name’s Marco, it’s nice to meet you too,” he stutters.  
Satisfied, Sasha pulls back and give me a side eye and elbows me in the ribs. I give her a strangled look of restricted anger, but my face probably just looks like a red balloon. She just giggles and pokes me in the cheek.  
“So anyway, what’re you guys up to?” Sasha shrugs looking back at Marco. She’s already started to absentmindedly pinch little bits off my sandwich and pop them down her throat to her hollow leg. I ignore it having come to the conclusion a long time ago that I’ll never finish my own food around her.  
Marco nervously looks from me to Sasha looking like he’s trying to formulate a lie that he won’t be able to pull off. I butt in and relieve him the duty to lie to people he's just met. “We were just out trying to savor some of the cooler weather before it gets hot again, and I told you that I’d come by,” I shrug while I try to take my sandwich back from Sasha’s grabby hands.  
“Right,” she nods with her cheek full of food, she looks back up to Marco, “Hey Marco, do you read any of Jean’s stories?”  
Marco raises an eyebrow, then looks at me with a smirk, I fucking blush again for some reason. “Jean hasn’t told me about any stories, I didn’t even know he was a writer,” he charms practically letting Sasha loose on a fangirling rampage.  
“Seriously?! They’re amazing, he has a whole blog of scary stories about ghosts and stuff, he has a new one like every week, he’s practically famous,” she oozes.  
Marco hides a look at me and starts to smile. My blushing threatens to burn my face off, “Alright, can we please not talk about this? What about you-what about the shop? How’s the shop doing?” I sputter to try and save myself some dignity. Marco is still looking at me, telling me that this conversation is not over. I stuff my face in my sandwich to try and hide.  
“The shop’s great, doing pretty well, especially over the summer when there were a bunch of tourists, but I think we’re getting into a slow season now,” Connie says leaning back and wrapping his arm around the back of Sasha’s chair. I look at them and remember when Connie told me he was going to ask Sasha to marry him a couple of years ago. The wedding was fantastic, the amount of food was unbelievable. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sasha so happy in her life. “But uh, we’ve got some more exciting things happening,” Connie says giving Sasha a side look.  
She smiles and looks at me with this heart melting smile. “I’m pregnant,” she says biting her lip.  
Holy-  
“Woah,” I sputter looking at Sasha and all her glory, she’s ecstatic. “I mean-wow, that’s- holy shit that’s amazing.” I stand up and pull her into a hug and continue to say little celebratory praises. I look at Connie and he’s smiling just as big as Sasha is.  
Connie stands and I shake his hand, Marco joins us and congratulates him. Sasha bounces on her toes and even hugs Marco. Everyone’s smiling and happy like there’s nothing they’ve ever been so proud of.  
Sasha skips to go get the ultrasound pictures. They show us the photos saying what happened and how Connie cried. They say it’s a girl and there’s more celebratory hugs. Sasha and Connie are so excited it’s nearly infectious. They have so much hope for the future and starting their family. The more we talk about it the more the heavy weight feels on my shoulders. The world is ending; and if Marco and I don’t do anything about it, Sasha and Connie might never get to meet their little girl.  
We eventually leave the shop. I tell Sasha to make sure to tell me when they find out a name for the kid. I’m so happy for them, starting their life and a family, it’s so surreal to think that only ten years ago Sasha had told me about her new baldy boyfriend. All I have to do now is make sure there is a world for them to live happily in, and make sure it’s safe for them and the baby. The stakes are only getting higher.  
Marco and I walk in silence. My anxiety kicks in. I literally have to save the fucking world, because if I don’t, Sasha and Connie will never get to start their family just like hundreds of other families around the world. One person in our end of the world club may have to die to do that, and I’d gladly offer if it means a safe world of them. I can’t believe I’ve become selfless, it feels weird, I don’t really like it.  
“It’ll be okay Jean,” Marco says as he looks at the ground walking beside me, “We can do this, we’re destined to.”  
“Easier said than done,” I mutter.  
Marco sighs and stuffs his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. “Maybe, but it’ll be worth it.” I side eye Marco. I don’t think he’s believes that he’s getting out of this alive either. I wonder if he knows if one of us is going to live, if any of us are. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was willing to die for the sake of the world right off the bat, he’s just got that kind of heroism. It may be rubbing off on me.  
We walk back to the car and I don’t even have to turn the AC on. It’s fucking cold. Why the fuck is it cold? I grumble and start the car giving Marco the reins on leading us back to his house. He directs us through Charleston to a street of townhouses beside a chapel. He tells me to pull up the the one with the blue siding. I park under a tree and we climb out. I watch Marco as he looks at the house with tired eyes, something worn and sorrowful darkens his expression. I want to ask him about it but he seems lost in thought. I hesitantly follow him up to the door, he unlocks it and lets us in.  
Oddly enough, all the curtains and shades are open and I can hear a sink running and dishes clanging together. I stand behind Marco feeling nervous and awkward about there being another person in the house. I Know he told me it was his sister's house but it just seems odd that there are other people here that I don’t know.  
Marco clears his throat. “It’s me,” he calls down the hallway, although he doesn’t move, he’s still standing in the doorway with me squished between him and the door. The clashing of the dishes stops abruptly and I hear someone’s voice.  
“Marco?” The water turns off and footsteps come around to the hallway. “Marco,” the girl sighs dropping her towel and running down the short hall to jump and wrap her arms around Marco. He hugs her back, holding her tight as he whispers apologies into her shoulder. The girl sputters into the crook of his neck. “We thought you were dead, you didn’t even call, we were going to go to Alla’s,” she cries in a muffled voice.  
I hear footsteps on the ceiling and I feel like I should probably give them some alone time. Another girl runs down from the steps and yells Marco’s name wrapping her arms around his waist and digging her face in the green sweatshirt not even caring about how ugly it is.  
“Hey Olli,” Marco laughs bending to kiss her on the top of her brunette head. I’m tempted to slip back out of the house and wait for Marco in the car because it’s unbelievably awkward. I’m panicking for the moment they all turn to me and ask who I am. Like, please, I really don’t want to be meeting new people anymore. It’s the end of the world, give me a break.  
The older of the two girls, probably even older than Marco, has her dark hair tied in a messy knot at the back of her neck with tired light brown eyes. She turns to me and squints, I half melt under her stare. Do I introduce myself? Should I leave? Am I supposed to know these people?  
“Who’s this?” she says pointing at me with her jaw. Marco looks up from the shorter girl and turns to me and swallows. Is he...nervous?  
“Amelia, this is my friend, Jean Kirstein,” he says in a controlled articulate voice. I smile a bit and try to make eye contact but she turns to Marco, her eyes wide and her jaw jutting out. She looks back to me and viciously pushes past Marco and the smaller girl, pinning me with flaming eyes. “Amelia wait-”  
“You,” she growls grabbing the front of my hoodie in a strong fist and randomly punches me square in the face, “This is all your fault, you did this to her, you did this to him. How dare you-” I start to grab her wrist but I’m too slow from the hit and she uses her free hand to clamp around my throat and slam my head against the door. I grunt out a cry and go to kick her knee in but she uses my awkward balance to trip and drag me to the ground, knocking me flat on my face and giving my wacked nose another slap that isn’t going to heal it any faster. She takes one of my hands and twists it up into my shoulder blades as she presses her knee into my lower back. I squirm under her ad try to ease some of the pain she’s putting on my shoulder.  
She’s still yelling at me, talking about a Her and a Him. Marco yells at her and I think the other girl is yelling too. Marco stomps over and grabs her forearms and yanks her off of me. I groan a slobbery whine into the hardwood as Marco pulls her away down the hall.  
I lay there trying to sort my haze back into shape from the blow to my sensitive nose. When two bare feet step into vision and crouch down beside me. “Sorry about her, she still blames you to what happened to our mom,” says a quiet voice. I struggle to push off the ground with a grunt and try not to pass out. Maybe Marco’s right, this fucking nose is just a problem now. I sit up and lean against the wall looking at the younger girl kneeling in front of me. “Wait here,” she mutters running back upstairs.  
I close my eyes and curse myself once again for not knowing anything. Why do I have to be in the middle of all of this and not know a single piece of useful shit? This is dumb. The end of the world is dumb.  
The girl hops back down the steps taking her place in front of me and gently rests a cool towel on my nose. She directs my hand and rests it over the towel so I can hold it myself. She sits with her legs crossed working with what looks like some creams and a bandage.  
I see a bright green sweatshirt come around the corner and kneel beside the girl. Marco rests his hand over mine that’s holding the towel to my face and gently pulls it back to get a look a the thing that must look like Voldemort now. Marco winces and puts my hand back into it’s position. The girl and Marco’s gentle touches feel nearly identical.  
“ Sho much fur makin’ a good firs’ impressin’ ” I mumble through a pathetically sad voice. I sound like a I just got my tongue stung by a bee. Marco smiles sadly at me and pats my knee.  
“Sorry Jean,” he sighs looking at me with his stupid sad eyes. This kid needs a lollipop or something. The girl sits up on her knees and says something to Marco that I can’t decipher. He then leans forward and takes the towels from my face again, wiping minutely at the blood running down my lips. The Marco Mini lifts the white bandage to my face and gently presses it over my nose. There’s a cooling tingle and eases some of the merciless throbbing. She rubs her fingers over the edges with a mother-like gentleness. I watch her as she focuses on being careful. She’s a spitting image of Marco. She has a sloped nose, big brown eyes, and freckles that scatter over round cheeks. Although she has comically giant square glasses that cover half her face. Her hair is long and tangled hanging in her face. She’s probably only fourteen or so. But she has a look in her eyes that makes her seem like she’s been here for many more years.  
She notices that I’m staring at her and smiles. “You have pretty eyes,” she mumbles sweetly as she pulls back and sits on her heels next to Marco.  
I wince out a smile and blink. “Tanks,” I mumble. I look at Marco who I can see clearer now and raise a painful eyebrow at him. “What did I do now?”  
He sighs and looks from the girl, who I’m obviously assuming is his sister, and back at me. “I’ll tell you later,” he says. He starts to stand and takes my arm by my armpit and hand, and hoists me up. I stumble letting him catch me from my vicious dizzy spell. He helps me shuffle down the hallway and into a living room to lay on a couch. The girl places a pillow under my head and adjusts me to tilt my head to help the bleeding stop.  
I notice the older girl, Amelia, in a chair on the other side of the room, glaring at me. I wish I could glare back but I doubt I’ll look too menacing right now. The younger girl who’s name I didn’t catch, sits down next to me on the floor looking back at her sister. Marco takes a seat at my feet and rests his elbows on his knees and gives me an encouraging smile.  
“Why did you bring him here of all places,” Amelia says through her teeth.  
“Because despite what you think, he’s not a malicious serial killer sucking souls out of the innocent,” Marco says with a bit of heat behind his voice.  
Sister Number Two sighs next to me and takes my hand, holding it between her cold palms and rubbing calming circles on my wrist. Amelia notices the gesture and literally growls.  
“I came for the book Amelia,” Marco sighs intertwining his fingers together. Her hands curl into fists and she squeezes her eyes shut.  
“You actually think I’m going to give it to you knowing what you’re going to do with it?” she spits her eyes practically glow, I look harder to see if they actually did.  
Marco huffs out a sigh of exasperation and looks up at her. “Yes. Because if you don’t, we'll die. Not just him, if he goes, I go, that’s the deal and you know it,” Marco says back.  
She looks up at him through pained glowing eyes. “How could you do this to her?” she asks in a shaky sigh.  
“I don’t have time to argue with you about this again,” Marco sighs looking at the floor between his legs. “I need the book.”  
Super Sweet Sister and I watch the two restrain their anger and their need to fight. I’ve seen this before. Hell, I do this everyday. Apparently it’s normal around here too, Amelia and Marco seem to have a butting relationship. Which is something I would never really except from Marco, he seems too caring for it.  
Amelia sits there in silence bouncing her leg. If she wasn’t such a bitch I’d think that’s she’s actually kind of hot, even when she’s angry.  
Marco stands abruptly and walks outside, leaving the sliding door open. After a moment, Amelia huffs a sigh and trails after him closing the glass door behind her. Cute Little Sister turns to me and sighs running her small fingers over the cuts on my knuckles.  
“It wasn’t always like this you know, Marco and Amelia used to be like best friends,” she says to my hand. I normally am pretty terrible with kids but she’s not that young and she seems to be able to take care of me better than I can. I’m desperately trying to remember her name.  
“What happened?” I croak now able to sound out my words a bit better now that her magic cream has worked my nose a bit.  
She looks up at me with those same eyes Marco has, worn and tired, an unknowable sorrow hidden somewhere. “Our mom died six months ago,” she says looking back down at my hand, flipping it over to trace the lines in my palm, “It was a vision. It was so powerful that she said she could feel it coming on for weeks before it actually happened, and when it did, Marco tried to take some from her to help, but it wasn’t enough, she died leaving the rest of her visions to Marco and her book.”  
Marco’s mother died from a vision. Just last night he was thrashing, crying and screaming at the pain of it all. I hate to imagine what it had to have done to his Mom as he watched. There’s no way for me to know the pain he has for his mother. And it’s not something I can help him with like with his visions. He’s alone.  
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. She shrugs wiping a thin tear from under her eye.  
“Just know that she died believing that you are going to keep this world safe,” she says looking up through her strands of dark hair, a glimmer of shining hope in her round eyes.  
Something starts to form a lump in my throat. “What...What do you mean?”  
“Well-” she starts but is cut off by Marco stomping his way back into the house and over to his sister and I at the couch.  
“We need to go, she won’t give it to us,” he says rushing to grab my hand and shoulder pulling me up from the couch. There’s a wicked rush of blood to my head that I’d probably fall over from if Marco wasn’t there. “We’ll come back when she understands.”  
He leads me to the door, my nose feeling surprisingly better. Whatever his sister did to that bandage was brilliant. Although I still don’t feel right from what she said about her mom dying, and how she already knew about me six months ago. Marco only admitted to knowing about me six weeks ago. Something’s off and they’re not telling me about it. Again.  
Marco follows me back out the front door, I can feel his anger from here. He doesn’t seem like the type to get very angry though, being a college teacher I’d assume he has a lot of patience. But siblings are always different, maybe it’s just a thing with Amelia.  
Once we are back outside in the growing cold, I turn and stop the freckled professor. He looks down at me tight lipped and jaw clenched. Something in my heart flutters when I think about what I’m trying to ask him.  
“Marco,” I swallow, “How did your mother die?” I ask as my hands start to shake. Why am I so fucking nervous?  
His expression softens and he looks at me, opening his mouth to say something then closes and turns away. “I’d rather not talk about this right now,” he mumbles avoiding eye contact.  
“Your sister said it was a vision.” I ignore his plea to avoid the subject and force him to talk about it anyway, I need to know for some reason. Something’s not right. “She said that you mom died believing that I could keep the world safe.”  
Marco closes his eyes and breathes a shaky breath. “Please Jean, I really don’t-”  
“It was six months ago, she knew about me six months ago, you said you’ve only known for six weeks,” I say as my voice starts to rise and the pit of anxiety motivates my hurtful words. I hate myself for this. “What does that mean Marco, what aren’t you telling me?”  
Tears being to fall from his pretty eyes, his breath picks up and he tries to step away, unable to talk me down. I grab him by his biceps and try to catch his line of sight that he keeps avoiding. “What happened to her? What does it have to do with me? Why does your sister hate me?” I beg him to look at me but he’s pulling away, haunted memories clouding me from his vision. I shake him a bit, “Marco!”  
He looks at me with pain and sorrow, his eyes dark and spilling tears over his cheeks. He sucks in a breath, “I don’t want to hurt you Jean,” he says in a broken whisper.  
“Why-” I freeze unable to get anymore words out.  
No.  
Not now.  
Please not this right now.  
I stand there with my mouth hanging open looking at Marco turn from pained to confused to worried. I can’t move, the clutch that’s lodged itself into my throat and chest is so powerful.  
“Jean?” Marco whispers taking his arms back from my grasp and lifting a hand to my shoulder.  
Holy shit I can’t breathe.  
What the fuck is this?  
The amount of effort it takes to close my mouth and swallow is ridiculous. My heart thrums against my fear of not knowing what’s going on. I know this is a spirit but what kind of spirit? I haven’t been rendered speechless in a long ass time.  
My body turns without me doing anything. My legs pull me away from Marco and down the sidewalk. The clutch in my chest growing stronger and stronger with every step I take, like someone is pulling me with a tightening rope around my throat. My breathing comes in spaced swallow heaves, wanting to breathe but the hold making it nearly impossible.  
“Jean?” I hear Marco follow behind me, letting me lead us to the unknown of this terrible feeling. My body feels like a corpse being electrocuted, being totally controlled by something else. My bones and muscles want to give out but the dead won’t let me go. I pray for Marco to stop following me in the fear of whatever we’re stalking up on being horrendously bad.  
We walk towards the tall chapel by Marco’s house where there’s a fucking cemetary across the street. Fantastic. As soon as I realize this, I use everything I have to pull against the louring but it only makes it hurt worse. I grunt against the pain and try to use my arm that feels like a log of meat to swat Marco away hoping he knows what I mean. He doesn’t, he takes my arm and helps me stand right. He’s too kind for his own good. My hands instinctively curl around his forearm, clawing into the material of his sweatshirt. I try to wheeze out for him to turn away but it only comes out as a choked cough.  
“Breathe Jean, I think you’re turning blue,” he whispers in a soothing voice. He’s so calm. He has no idea how scared he should be.  
We make it to the gates of the cemetery and as soon as I touch the cool metal something releases. I gasp in a sweet breath of air and drop to my knees, wheezing in free gulps of oxygen on my own. The clutching in my chest eases and I rest against the gates trying not to focus on a voice in my head telling me to come inside. “Hey hey, are you okay?” Marco says kneeling down next to me his brown eyes full of worry.  
I breathe in a few more treasured breaths of air and turn to him, my head feeling like a balloon. “Please go,” I breath. His face contorts into almost offended confusion.  
“What? Why? You can’t even walk,” he says still holding my arm.  
“I’ll be fine, just,” another breath, “You can’t go in there,” breath, “it’s dangerous.” He swallows and fidgets looking around us to see if anyones there. The light’s dimming and I can already tell the cemetery is going to have little to no light with all the tree coverage. I can’t let Marco go in there, not with something this powerful beckoning my ass towards it.  
“What’s in there?” he asks in a hushed voice. I close my eyes and try to feel the being, it’s so fucking strong it’s sucking the energy right out of me.  
“Don’t know,” I huff, “It’s bad.”  
“Then there’s no way you’re going in there by yourself,” Marco says his grip tightening on my arm, I don’t have the energy to pull away from him.  
“Please,” I sigh as a last resort. A word used on such a rare occasion, Marco should know that this is not normal.  
“If you can stand then I’ll go,” he says letting me go and leaning back.  
I can’t believe him. I struggle to lift my arm and grab onto one of the gate posts. I pull and tremble to move my feet from under me. I make it to my knees before my arms give out and I collapse again, Marco catches me before I can crack my head open on the sidewalk.  
“That’s what I thought,” he mutters taking my arm and slinging it around his shoulders. I let him because I can’t do anything else. I was once a walking meat suit for an unembodied spirit, and now I’m complete jello. Before we stand, he sticks his hand through the gate and into the dirt on the other side digging around for something. “There you are,” he mumbles pulling out a tiny black box from the soil. He slides open the box with one hand and it reveals a key.  
“How did you…”  
Marco smiles to himself, “Amelia’s been working for the church ever since she was thirteen, she keeps a key here just in case,” he says standing and pulling me up with him with a grunt.  
“In case of what?” I croak. He ignores me and struggles to haul me up with one arm and unlock the gate with the other. As soon as the gate is unlocked the metal flings itself from Marco’s hand and crashes against tombstones on either side. Completely unnatural. We both jump a little at the sound of metal hitting stone. That can’t be good.  
“Woah,” Marco mumbles. Anxiety makes me want to turn around but this fucking spirit and Marco won’t let me. Something is definitely wrong here. Marco breathes a calming breath through his nose and adjusts my arm around his shoulder and his arm around my back. “You ready?” he whispers.  
“Fuck no,” I grumble finally able to breathe a little easier.  
“I’m taking that as a yes,” he says dragging our bodies into the eerie darkness of the cemetery. “Tell me where to go.”  
My feet feel like bags of sand that weigh down both me and Marco, they drag along the graveled walkway ungracefully. My head buzzes with voices in hushed whispering tones - none of them recognizable. The only thing I can use to lead us is the hold this thing has on my heart, like it squeezes harder and harder the closer I get. I hope they’re telling me to come and not run.  
“Right,” I grunt. Marco turns and is trying to manage both of us through the heavily populated graveyard. Some of the tombstones are tall enough for me to hold myself up on. We stumble through the graves and leaves, Marco tries to direct me out of the way of smaller stones and around trees. I can’t really follow through with any of his helpful notes to watch my step because the squeezing is getting worse and I’m just having to rely on him to pull me out of the way of danger.  
“Over there,” I wheeze out lazily using my free hand to point to a far corner of the cemetery. Marco adjusts his arm around me and grabs at my shirt and hoodie as I get heavier and heavier in his hold.  
We get closer to whatever it is, my chest is burning and I’m not entire sure if my heart is even beating anymore. I grunt against the pain and my arm tightens around Marco in the uncomfort.  
“You okay?” Marco breathes. My hands curl into fists and sweat begins to bead along my forehead. I breathe in arrhythmic heaves. My head spins with a throbbing and the growing of louder voices, they remind me of the ones I heard when Marco was having his vision. I groan into Marco’s shoulder.  
“Fuck-wawait,” I choke. Marco stops. “Back...there.” He turns us back and tries his best to follow my poorly demanding directions.  
“Over here?” Marco says stepping further into the dark. I nod against his shoulder. He walks slower in stumbling steps, me being only a bag of bones and meat clinging onto him like a heavy ass monkey.  
By now we’re close enough that every step we make I’m slurring strings of graceful curses and digging my claw of a hand into Marco’s sweatshirt. I sputter a few apologies too that Marco denies. Eventually the pain is enough for my legs to give out completely. I collapse against Marco and the poor guy tries his best from falling over too but we both crumble to the ground against a couple of headstones.  
The screaming is my head is deafening, I can’t hear anything besides the wails and cries of people I don’t know. I can’t hear Marco, who is trying to talk to me, I can barely see his mouth move in the dark. But I can clearly see the figure of a man standing behind him.  
Found you.  
He’s tall and slim, he looks down at us with pity. For some reason he looks incredibly familiar. He’s young and dressed in what I’m assuming is 1920’s attire. It’s gotta be him; this dude for some reason is so powerful that he can literally haul my ass to him from two blocks away without even breaking into a sweat. Me, on the other hand, am panting and whining looking up at him, unable to fight back if I needed to. I’m all his and he knows it.  
Marco notices that I’m looking past him and slowly turns around to see what it is. Of course he doesn’t see anything, but he looks back at me looking like he’s about to puke.  
“Jean,” I hear his voice from miles away swirled with millions of other voices. “Why are we at my grandfather’s gravestone?” I look from the apparition to Marco and back to the ghost.  
Oh, fuck.  
I make a confused sound mixed with a groan. Marco looks back over his shoulder and reaches out to touch the tombstone that the spirit is standing directly behind. The ghost looks down at him and reaches to touch Marco’s hand on the carved stone. As soon as they meet Marco jerks his hand back and feverously rubs at his fingers. Did he actually just...touch him? I’ve never seen that happen to anyone except me.  
The man looks back to me and frowns taking a step over the stone and kneeling down next to me. I want to run or scream to do whatever I can to get away from this thing, he looks at me with a calming genuine look of sympathy. Marco’s sitting here with tears streaming down his face and watching me as I breathe like a squealing pig coming face to face to his presumable dead grandfather.  
The spirit reaches out and rests his airy hand on my head, takes a deep breath (because ghost need to breathe?), and his eyes burn a bright white. The shooting cold pain of a vision flows from his arm and right into my fucking face, I cry out and my vision goes black.  
In a misty swirl of pictures, I can see a woman laying on a bed. Marco, Amelia, Marco’s other sister, and another dark skinned lady all surround her. Her eyes are white and Marco is clinging onto her like I had last night, his hand clamped around her hand and arm, both of them screaming and and crying in pain. The younger sister is trying to help Marco, Amelia is reading from the bible and crying, the other lady is chanting a foreign language and black-green smoke floats from her hands.  
I look closer at the woman on the bed, she looks painfully familiar, her long dark hair, her round cheeks and slim figure. I know I’ve seen her before.  
Another flash of pictures pounds my head. It’s in the middle of another cemetery, the sky swirls with purple and green, white lightning cracks through the clouds. There’s a giant naked figure nearly fifty feet tall stares down with glowing green eyes and glistening teeth. The ground behind the monster cracks and crumbles revealing a gaping hole. Another moment later, black shadowy figures claw out of the ground and scramble towards me. They disintegrate everything in their path, lathering black goo over the stones that bubble and melt into the scorched grass.  
Then the image moves to me. I’m surrounded by spirits of all shapes and sizes standing and waiting. My skin is white and my eyes are thick and black. I grin with sharp teeth smiling up that the terrifying monster that I seem unbothered by. I point with one hand across the graveyard and the awaiting spirits whirl into an ocean of wisps and shadows destroying everything in their path. Howling and screeching, they collide with the dark shadows sending whipping wind and fire up from the ground.  
The pictures abruptly change to the woman on the bed again. She screams one last time and her eyes fade from the white to a pretty brown, just like Marco’s, and she falls limp on the bed. Marco collapses back and his body starts shaking viciously. His eyes are still rolled into the back of his head. Amelia screams and goes to the woman on the bed and cradles her head in her lap. The younger sister and the other lady are holding Marco down who looks like he’s having some sort of seizure. He eventually stops shaking and lays limp blinking blearily up at his sister.  
The pictures go black and I can feel the cold burning again. I open my eyes to see Marco in front of me crying and holding onto my face. The spirit is standing behind him looking at me with pity.  
“Marco?” I croak my voice thick and strangled. He hiccups and wraps his arms around me. I feel his rapid heart beat against mine as I lean into his chest. I look at the standing figure behind him. The ghost tightens his lip and slowly steps back into the shadows until the darkness swallows him up. My anxiety eases a bit and I relax deeper into Marco letting him and his sweatshirt warm me up.  
He pulls back and looks at me holding me by my cheeks and jaw. “Did you have a vision?” he asks with a panicked breath.  
“Your mom,” I shakily sigh, “She died because of me.”  
Marco’s face changes immediately, going from worried and exhausted to flat out horrified. I watch him as he’s frozen in front of me. He knows what I saw.  
“I…” he whispers eye bulging at me.  
“The vision that killed your mother...” I say my voice growing thicker as a lump catches in my throat and I begin to cry. “It was me.”  
My chest bursts.  
When I first met Marco, he looked at me with dread and sorrow, his eyes were so dull and weighted. He saw me like he did in his mom’s vision. The vision that fucking killed her. I look at Marco and remember how his sister said that him and Amelia have been fighting ever since their mom died. I’ve torn them apart. I’ve scarred their lives forever, I’m the reminder of the busted part in their hearts, I’m the cause. They don’t deserve this. Marco doesn’t deserve this.  
This isn’t fair.  
My breath picks up and my head swirls with a throbbing and the weight of what I’ve done. I sit up abruptly and nearly pass out from the rush of blood to my head. I start gasping ready to puke at any moment.  
My body trembles in uncontrollable croaks and sobs. I was the vision that killed Marco’s mother. His sister rightfully blames me for her death. I brought the apocalypse to the planet and have already killed someone without even knowing. She died thinking that I could truly save this planet from its demise. She died believing that I could keep her family alive. To keep Marco alive. I wrap my arms around my torso and try to keep myself from rocking, unable to control the crying or the breathing.  
“Woah woah, calm down calm down, Jean look at me,” Marco tries to meet my line of sight but I can’t look at him. “Shh, take a deep breath, you’re okay,” he coos in a calming voice. For a second it works, but then I remember his panicked eyes as he looked at me after the vision last night, how he held onto me like a life raft fearing to sleep alone, how he looked at me when he realized I knew what he couldn’t tell me.  
I killed his mom. I killed his mom. I killed his mom.  
My breathing picks back up the the tears continue to spill down my cheeks. I notice Marco’s eyes start to redden and glisten and he tries to calm me back down.  
“Jean, look at me, it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t your fault, there was no way for you to know, okay?” he says his voice getting thick against the tears rising to his throat.  
“I can’t- I’m so sorry, please Marco, I’m so so sorry. I didn’t- I couldn’t- I’m just, please,” I choke through thick saliva. He tries and comfort me by pulling me into his chest. I try to push back feeling tainted and poisonous to him, but he only pulls harder. I give up and fall into him, soaking his stupid sweatshirt with snot, salty tears, and apologies. He holds me like I held him last night, he combs a hand through my hair, and rubs my back along my spine.  
Why doesn’t he hate me? How can he sit here and comfort me, feeling sorry for me when his mother's death was something I’m rightfully responsible for? Why didn’t Armin just kill me when he thought I was the one to bring on the apocalypse in the first place? Why didn’t I just kill myself after I woke up from the prophecy? This is all my fault.  
Marco cries softly into my hair, whispering that everything’s okay. I fist my hands into his sweatshirt a pull him closer, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go of him now. If I do, I’ll have to look at him in his eyes; in his sad pretty eyes.  
“I’m so sorry Marco, please believe me, I’m so sorry,” I hiccup into his chest.  
“I know I know, I believe you, it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” he sighs through his tears. “It’s not your fault.”  
Why does it have to be like this? What did we do to deserve this? What did Marco’s mom do to deserve this? Why do people like his sister have to be dragged into this? What do I have to do to repent to this unfair world?  
My choking sobs become hiccuping sighs into Marco’s dampened sweatshirt. He rocks me slightly and rubs my back in even gentle circles. Through my tears, I look at the stupid graphic on the sweatshirt, the sunshine and rainbow letters glowing brightly. This isn’t fair. Marco should be able to buy this dumb sweatshirt on a sunny day with a wife and kids who have a sweet old grandmother and bring it back home as a souvenir. Not some second hand last resort to not have to wear a shirt that was just burned off of you the day before.  
This is so unfair.  
“I’m sorry Marco,” I shakily sigh into him again.  
“Don’t be,” he whispers. And after a moment of contemplation, he adds, “I knew.”  
I straighten to look at him in his sad eyes. I really wish he never had to wear that look. “You knew?”  
He shrugs slightly, “I had a vision about a month before, my mom knew too, but she told me not to tell my sisters.”  
My heart sags unwillingly, “That doesn’t change things,” I say more confident in taking the blame than ever. Anything I can do to take the fault from Marco I will, I can see it in his eyes how he feels guilty for at least some part of it, probably about how hard Amelia’s been taking it.  
I watch his pretty eyes in the darkness. The terrible sorrow and exhaustion that dulls the light. He has beautiful long eyelashes, even in the dark I can still see his patterned freckles that dot across his cheeks and forehead. My vision drifts to his lips to break the pain in my heart when I look at Marco in the eyes. I’m so close to him I can feel his breath slow and warm against my face in the growing cold. A selfish and needy desire tempts me to kiss him. But that’s not what he needs right now. What he needs is to be as far away from me as possible.  
Before another thought, the emergence of dozens of spirits sucks a sloppy gasp from my lips. How did they appear so fast? Where the fuck did they even come from? They’re everywhere. Surrounding Marco and I on the ground looking at us and waiting patiently. So many people. All from different times in history, ages, and sizes. I gape up at them - terrified. How did they just fucking appear? It’s like someone flipped a switch and they just showed up.  
Marco notices me start to flip out again and grabs my elbow. “Jean? What is it?” he asks, looking back at what I’m staring at.  
“There’s…” All eyes on me. Waiting. Waiting for what? The rising clutch in my throat makes me want to cry more but I think I’ve just about cried all I can today. They have to be from the cemetery. The only other time I’ve seen this many spirits is at the breach six months ago, and that’s when there was literally a portal for them to simply walk through to get to this dimension. “They’re everywhere,” I shutter.  
“Okay lets get you out of here then,” he says tensely as he tightens his shoulders together like he’s uncomfortable. He stands and pulls me with him resorting us back to him having to half carry me. I think I’m fine now though just, you know, fucking terrified.  
As we begin to stumble between headstones, the spirits follow. They drift and float or limp and drag, just doing whatever they can to get closer to me or Marco or whoever. I let Marco drag me out of here as I continue to watch in horror at all of the lost souls.  
Good thing is - we can move faster than them, even when Marco’s doing all the leg work. We get to the graveled walkway making it a straight shot to the open gates before I’m viciously ripped from Marco’s hold.  
I’m thrown into the air out of the blue, the surprise knocks the wind out of me more than the punch. Whatever tackled me got me from the front when I was distracted by the rest of the dead. I yelp out a cry and fall back at least five feet away from Marco in the immense blow. Marco stumbles and skids back to collect me. I look up blearily at what’s pinning me down.  
It’s him.  
It’s fucking him.  
The spirit that gave me that fucked up vision about Marco and his mother and the other stuff I don’t want to think about.  
Marco’s grandfather.  
He looks down at me calm and cool, no more pity or emotion, just simple. He stands over my head with his hands behind his back like he’s playing innocent. I struggle to sit up my body aching, snapping, and popping from the throw. Marco kneels and sticks out a hand to help me up. Just as my fingers brush his, he’s thrown back. He flies back through the air way farther than I was. He cries out and I watch as he hit’s the gravel and rolls until he’s clear out of the cemetery. Kicking up rocks and dust around him.  
Before I can even acknowledge if I’m okay, I’m running. I scramble up and ignore all the small rocks in my clothing and shoes. I race to him, hoping to god that he didn’t smack his head on the pavement or anything. I cry out his name and before I can make it past the gates, they slam shut in front of me rattling and screeching. I reach the gate and pull with everything I have, which isn’t much, to try and pry the metal open, hoping for some kind of Superman miracle.  
I don’t stop pulling at the gates until I see Marco start to shift, groaning and rolling back to face me and the gate. Once he realizes that the gates are shut and I’m clawing to get out. He sits up coughing and wheezing. I stutter out his name and if he’s okay over and over, probably more panicky because I’m so fucking scared to turn around. He crawls to the gate and I kneel down to meet him through the bars.  
I can see him better now and he looks fucking awful, the gravel and pavement have scraped and bruised this kid to the moon and back. His nose, lip, and forehead are bleeding the worst along with all the other scratches. My trembling fingers brush along his dirty cheekbones through the bars. He wraps his hands around the meta; between us and shakes them weakly.  
“They won’t budge,” he mumbles through his busted lip. Something in my gut tells me to run to get away as far as I can and as fast as I can, but I can’t, so the other rising logic over my panic tells me to make sure Marco gets away. Something’s wrong and he should get as far away as he can.  
“Marco,” I say trying to ease the shake in my voice. He doesn’t stop, he shakes the gates harder as his strength is comes back to him. Blood runs down his cheeks and onto his sweatshirt, he looks horrifying. He tries to use his foot as leverage to push the gates with all of his weight. “Marco,” I say again resting my hands over his fists on the bars. When he still doesn’t respond I slide my hands to his wrists and squeeze. “Marco!” I yell out of panic, his flailing efforts doing nothing to help sooth me.  
He looks up with pleading eyes, one of them is bright red, he must be in a lot of pain that he’s ignoring. Although, from what I’ve seen of his so far, Marco has a very high pain tolerance. He freezes with his hands still clamped on the bars.  
“Go,” I shutter, fear creeps it’s way to my spine and I feel something breath on the back of my neck sending goosebumps all over my body.  
I see Marco’s face twist to protest but then it changes and sags, leaving him white as a sheet staring blankly at something over my shoulder. My stomach drops.  
I know that look.  
I own that look.  
“Marco?” I whisper cautiously. He doesn’t break his line of sight, only slowly easing his grip on the bars and creeping his fingers over my forearms and taking hold.  
“That’s…” he whispers as I feel him tremble next to me. “...my…”  
“Marco you need to go,” I say gaining some confidence from nowhere, “Go back to Armin’s.”  
He likes you.  
I hear a hollowed echoed voice right beside my ear. I flinch and let go of one of Marco’s arms. I turn and see the apparition of Marco’s grandfather kneeling beside me and looking back at Marco.  
You’ve made quite the impression on him. He grins. I gape at the figure unable to form words. He’s so close. And Marco can see him.  
It’s fate you know. He says eyeing me. Marco’s fingers dig into my skin, I welcome it knowing that he can still move his hands. Tell him to get the book.  
I look from him to Marco and back to the spirit, “He can’t hear you?” I ask.  
I can only do so many things at once, he shrugs raising an eyebrow and standing placing his hands back behind him. Tell him to get the book because I don’t want him to see this.  
My heart skips a beat, “See what?” I croak. He turns and looks at me with his raised eyebrow. I swallow and turn to Marco holding his hand and pulling him closer. “You gotta go Marco, please go and your sisters and take them to Armin’s, you’ll be safe there, come back for me in the morning,” I sputter as he tries to deny everything.  
“No nono no way I’m leaving you here alone, you need-we need to get you out of there, s-something's wrong and- you can’t- you shouldn’t be left to die,” he chokes back holding my hand tighter.  
“Please Marco you have to trust me, please just go and be safe, I can’t-”  
“Dont you dare try and be selfless now you can’t-something’s going to hurt you and you’ll be-you’ll be dead by the time I come back-”  
“Marco dont do this, please-”  
Let go of him Jean. Ihe chilling, airy voice demands.  
I unravel my hands from Marco, the looks in his eyes growing pleading and panicky. I look at him bleeding and scared, even though he’s probably safer than me right now, I hate leaving him alone. I don’t trust whatever's out there, whether it’s a punk teen looking for a wad of cash or lucifer himself stalking him to his house, I don’t want him to be alone.  
I try to calm my nerves by telling myself that this will help Marco, but the feeling in my chest and look in his eyes says otherwise. As Marco continues to protest against my defiance,I stand with shaking knees drifting farther and farther from the pleading boy across from me. It’s for his own good. He’ll be okay.  
He’s still clamped on the bars gaping up at me. I swallow the lump in my throat. Don’t show him you’re scared. Don’t show him you want him to bust through the gates and carry you to safety. Don’t give him any indication that you need him. Oh, but you’ve never needed anyone more than him.  
“Go Marco,” I huff trying to soften my broken expression. “Don’t look.” I step away from him further into the darkness amongst the dead and their graves. I turn so I don’t have to look at him anymore and my heart breaks as I do.  
I take a deep breath that rattles through broken chest and lift my chin to the Bodt ancestor. He looks down at me with a hidden scent of disappointment. I can’t get Marco to leave, and I highly doubt he will until he can get to me. I suppress the feeling to puke when I think that Marco might try to climb the fence.  
“Go on,” I spit at the apparition. My hands tighten into fists and I honestly just want to punch the guy in the face. I really don’t like him. First he drags me to his freaky cemetery by yanking at my lungs, then he blasts a stupid fucking vision that showed me Marco and his mother’s death, and then he tosses him out of the graveyard like he’s nothing more than a sack of trash. Not cool.  
He grins in just the slightest, it makes me want to punch him even more.  
He takes one stride to me smooth and graceful raising a hand to my chest and hovering over my heart.  
Save us all Jean Kirstein.  
He then thrusts his hand into my chest like some sort of fucking Indiana Jones crap and curls his fingers around the hysterical organ at my core. I cry out and try to yank him back clasping my hands around his arms and tugging at the airy limb, nothing budges - figures.  
He starts to squeeze at my heart and I choke on a gasp. Blood and saliva drip from my lips and down my chin. My feet give out beneath me but he’s holding me up with his hand in my chest. My vision tunnels until all his see is his stupid grinning face and the spirits surrounding us.  
Everything goes black.  
Pictures. More pictures. Except these are of people I don’t know. Happy moments with families and friends. Sunny days or snow days or rainy days. People together when they were content and satisfied, just happy to be alive. Good times where they didn’t have a care in the world. It makes me miss the good days before the end of the fucking world.  
Each little capture of a happy time flies with different people. Every snapshot with another mother or father or daughter or son or brother or sister. Different places and times, whatever it is - it’s good. It’s like watching a thousand movies at once, all with different stories and people.  
They’re memories. I’ve dreamt of things like this. Usually whenever a spirit and I soul’s are bound it’s because of an exchange of memories that the spirit initiates. I never really have a say in the matter. They give me a memory and they grab the first one they can find off of me. It bonds us and that’s why it’s so hard to separate.  
But I’ve never seen it like this. A montage of smiles and the warm fuzzy feelings. The more I see the more I feel my memory sucked from me. Little things like smells that remind me of my grandparents house or how my mother’s hand felt when I had to get a shot at the doctor as a kid or when I found a puppy under the porch at our old house. These childhood memories are torn from me and replaced by those from people I don’t know and don’t care about, the void they create is much bigger than anything they can fill it with. They become more human with the exchange and I lose my tiny bits of my soul.  
No.  
No, I don’t want this.  
I feel myself slipping away. The small memories they take become important and sentimental moments in my life. They’re taking my life from me. Everything I was taught or have seen or people I’ve met. I’ll be a shell of who I used to be. I may end up forgetting who my parents are, where I live, who I am. They’re going to kill me.  
I struggle to try and stop the waves of memories crashing through my soul. My attempts manage a drop in an ocean. It’s pointless. These spirits are going to suck my soul dry. I desperately grab at my memories like I’m trying to grab at the rain. My memories fall from my grasp like sand in open palms.  
I try to focus on a memory that hasn't been taken yet. Something strong. Something they might not think is important. Something I can grab onto and hide from anything. Something I can hold to my chest and center my everything on.  
I think about my parents. My mother. Her dark hair and her light...did she have light or dark eyes? Nevermind. My old house. My bedroom that was a bright...blue? My friends, the people that I love and grew up with. Mikasa-Eren-Eren-Armin-No. Every hint of a smile or wisp of hair is torn from my memory as I think of them. Everything I’ve grown up on is taken from me I can’t remember where I went to school or my childhood pet.  
Something.  
Anything.  
Please, I don’t want to die.  
But how can you think of a memory when they’re being sucked from you.  
I need something. Something only I can feel.  
Without another thought I think of Marco.  
Big brown eyes, constellations of freckles, long lashes, the smell of his salty sweet hair, how his cheeks flush red when I was checking him out, how he feels wrapped in my arms, how it feels with his arms wrapped around me, his smiles so kind and genuine, his selflessness, his gentle care and love.  
Marco.  
I hold onto his memory like it’s the last thing that will keep me alive. Because it is the last thing that will keep me alive. I focus on how his fingers felt dragging over my knuckles, the sheepish smile when he admitted to eavesdropping, the way his voice sounds in the morning, how he looks in a stupid green sweatshirt.  
Will this be enough to live through? Or will the dead claw at my firmly clasped hands around my precious memories of Marco and tear him to shreds along with me.  
Please be enough Marco.  
You have to be enough.  
You are enough.  
You are everything.


	6. Breathe For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry I posted late! Although I will be changing my posting date to Sunday's now.  
> Hope this chapter makes up for it ;)  
> xx

Voices.  
Voices everywhere.   
There is nothing besides the whisperings and murmurings in pitch blackness.   
I’m nothing but a filter for all of these voices. They rattle through an empty undefined space where I can’t see or feel.   
I can only hear, and it’s all voices.   
-  
My mother.   
Whenever I had a nightmare about a ghost, I’d shuffle over to my parents room and tug at the blanket on their bed. My mother would roll over and whisper to me. I’d climb into bed with her and let the rhythm of her slow heartbeat calm me to sleep. It helped me forget about the shadowy pair of eyes watching me in the corner.   
My mother was safe, she was home.  
-  
Marco.   
Freckles.   
Smiles.  
Lime green sweatshirts.  
-  
Memories.   
Where are they?   
Random pictures from my childhood pop into my brain every now and then. They remind me what my house looked like, what my favorite pair of shoes were, the day we bought a puppy.   
Where are they coming from?   
Why am I thinking of them?  
Where am I?  
-  
“So many of them…”  
Another voice. But it sounds so different from all the other ones. The others are fading. Only a choice few can speak louder than the random memories that drift through my thoughts.   
But that voice. So close. So real.   
Where did it come from?   
Who is that?   
“Somehow…”  
I reach for the voice limbless. I try to speak out to it, to catch its attention, but everything is dark and I feel like I’m trying to swim through a vacuum. My efforts are nothing. I’m surrounded by nothing. I am nothing.  
“He lived…”  
-  
Someone’s holding me.   
Long slender arms around my torso, a fuzzy head rests on my chest, and deep soothing breathing blows air along my neck.   
I turn and dig my face into the person’s hair. I feel so calm, so warm, so at home. Their hair smells sweet, like peaches and cinnamon, and maybe a little salty. I know this person. Something pulls at my chest right near my heart, something caged and hidden, it’s released and I open my eyes.   
The boy laying on my chest is asleep. Long eyelashes cast shadows onto freckled cheeks. Round lips sit beneath a sloped nose. Dark hair hangs over his eyebrows and cheekbones. I could sit here and watch him forever.  
I remember this. The morning after Marco’s vision.   
Marco.   
“I’m so sorry Jean…”  
His voice comes from far away. It doesn’t come from his lips though, it’s echoed and surrounding the air.   
Marco.  
“I should’ve told you everything…”  
Please pull me back Marco. I don’t know where I am, I need your help, find me.   
In the memory of Marco and I in the morning, I reach to tilt his face up to me, he needs to see me, I need him to see me.   
“Marco.”

\--

Oh my god.   
Where am I?  
What time is it? What day is it?   
I try to move my fingers and maybe feel my way around. I feel sheets beneath me, soft and warm. I open my eyes just a hair, a dull light fills the room. Armin’s.   
I look around the shadowy walls. I honestly don’t remember how I got here. Maybe something about Marco and a cemetery-  
Oh...right.   
I blink vision into my eyes. I try to send feeling to my limbs hoping they all work. For some reason it’s fucking cold. My toes feel like tiny separate ice cubes. I curl up under the blankets pulling them closer to my chin. At least my body isn’t broken. Although every thing feels fuzzy, like my body is all somehow numb.   
I turn and look at the chair moved to sit next to the bed. A fuzzy head of dark hair pokes up from a wool blanket burrito he’s got going on. Something warm fills my cold, empty chest.  
Marco.   
I watch him as he sleeps. He’s tucked all of his precariously long limbs into a little ball of blankets. He’s so cute. The only thing I can see on him is his closed eyes and fuzzy hair. I want to pull at his blanket and drag him into bed with me, I don’t think he’d protest.   
What time is it?   
I notice Marco’s phone on the bedside table, I reach with a weak meat sack of an arm and the phone flashes a god forsaken hour in the morning. Ugh. And it’s September-  
It’s been four days?   
I startle awake for some reason, somehow ashamed for being asleep for this many days. As soon as I make it to a sitting position, I collapse back into the sheets. Fuck what’s wrong with me? I groan out a breath of air and stare at the ceiling, I’m friggin tired of not being able to move around.   
“Jean?” I hear Marco’s sexy groggy morning voice beside me.   
I grump out another groan at the ceiling. I hear Marco stumble out of his burrito and clammer over to me. I smile at his frantic clumsiness. His head hovers over me with his squinty tired eyes. “You’re awake,” he huffs a smile creeping to his lips.   
I raise a lazy hand to his face, my weightless fingers brush against the white bandage that’s stuck above his eyebrow. I trail my hand down his face over his cheekbone and along his jaw, scabbed scrapes and bruises discolor is pretty skin. He reaches up and intertwined his hand with the one I have resting on his jaw and neck. His expression droops and his eyes glisten.   
“I thought you were going to die,” he says in a hushed whisper, too afraid to speak too loud. I curl my cold fingers around his warm ones and let myself look at Marco without hesitation.  
“I’m sorry,” I croak, my voice feeling strangled and hoarse. Marco shakes his head and swallows his tears back. I look at him, broken and beaten, hurt yet hopeful. What’s happened in the last four days? What happened after I blacked out at the cemetery? How long has it been since Marco’s had a decent night’s sleep?  
“Do you want me to get Armin?” Marco asks as he rubs circles on my hand.   
I shake my head. “No,” I mumble as I try to pull him closer to me, “Just...come here.” Marco smiles and kisses the back of my hand, what a dork. I’m probably a dork too for liking it.   
He stands and picks up the blanket that he was previously wrapped in. He has gray sweatpants and a black sweatshirt. I miss the green one, oddly. He walks around the bed to the side that has more room and scoots under the blankets. He lays out the extra on top of us and I roll to get closer to him. We lay facing each other, our noses practically touch, I can feel his warm breaths on my lips and the heat omit from his heavily and unfortunately clothed body.   
I’m to tired to be anxious or embarrassed about dragging him into bed with me. I just need him close, I need him to warm this cold emptiness that’s settled somewhere in my chest. I try not to think about it. I look at Marco’s tired droopy eyes, his round lips and sloped nose. He’s here. He’s close. He’s the only thing I can think about.   
“Do you remember anything?” he asks in a hushed breathy whisper.   
I close my eyes and pull myself into his chest breathing in his scent and listening to his heartbeat. My body is so numb and cold, I’m so empty, but with Marco so close and so warm I feel like those things don’t matter. If Marco’s here then there’s nothing else to worry about.   
“You,” I mumble into his sweatshirt. I feel him exhale a held breath and slide his arms around me. I tangle my legs in between his and let his fuzzy socks warm up my feet. He digs his face into my probably gross hair and even presses a gentle kiss on the top of my head. If I had the energy, I’d lean up and give him a real kiss, but I’m so cold and tired, I’ll do it when we wake up.   
-  
“Just let them rest they’ve been through a lot-”  
“Time is of the essence doctor!”   
The door bursts open and both Marco and I nearly fall off the bed. Marco tightens his arms around me and sighs leaning down to look at me better. His brown eyes and freckles and messy morning hair. God, he’s so pretty, please don’t make him leave.   
“Sorry this is so abrupt, just go with it, she saved your life,” he whispers and turns looking for the humanoid that just knocked the door down. My stomach churns anxiously with this ‘She’ character. I honestly am not ready to meet another new person, that last time that happen I was punched in the face.   
“Hey Hanji-” Marco starts.  
“Jean Kirstein back from the dead! Let’s see how those motor skills are doing.” A woman appears wide eyed and ballistic, she hops onto the bed between Marco and I and rolls me on my back with more force than necessary. I look nervously at Marco who’s wincing in the form of a smile.   
The woman pokes and pinches at my cheeks and eyes trailing her vibrating hands down my neck and chest. She reaches to my hips and I’m about to swat her away before she gets any farther, but she takes the hem of my shirt and pulls it up to my chin exposing my chest and resting her palm on my breast bone. She bits her lip and gives me a quick glance before pressing the heel of her hand into my chest.   
I cry out at the unexpected amount of pain that she caused. She didn’t even press that hard but it fucking hurts. Stars dart across my vision and my hands fist in the sheets. I hear Marco say something but holy shit this freaking hurts. She lets off and I bolt straight up almost knocking heads with her. I heave and gasp clutching at the center of my chest, the woman is just sitting there watching me with something like demented glee in her eyes. I continue to wheeze until I start gagging, and before another moment, Marco is there holding a bucket under me and resting a encouraging hand on my back. I puke up everything I can; weird green and black goo mixed with bloody saliva are spewed into the bucket leaving me sweating and exhausted.   
Once I’m finished puking up what looks like a messed up science experiment, I lean back and let Marco hold me up as I wipe a lazy arm over my mouth.   
“I’ll take that,” the woman chims grabbing the puke bucket from Marco’s hands. I give her a weird side eye as she climbs off the bed and skips out the door. I groan at whatever that was and lay back down on the bed feeling the pull in my chest spread over my abdomen.   
“Sorry about that,” Marco murmurs as he lifts the blankets back over me and brushes my bangs out of my face. “She kind of surprised us all when Levi called her.”   
I hum and let the pain ease from my chest, thankful that the crazy lady is gone. “What was that?” I groan.   
Marco sighs and sits on the bed looking down at me. He bites his lip and looks down at his hands, turns back to me, and cautiously peels the blanket back from my chest. He takes a breath and lifts my shirt back like the crazy lady did except with all the gentleness care that Marco omits. He looks down at my exposed chest and sighs, his eyebrows furrow and he tightens his lips. He traces trembling fingers over my chest in an odd pattern. I watch him as his face clouds with that familiar sorrow.   
“I saw him do this to you,” he shakily sighs, his touch on my chest leaving me needy and wanting. I’m too lost in the way Marco looks above me to look down at what he’s tracing. The warm trails of his hands spark goosebumps along my cold skin. “You were hanging in the air, you went completely limp,” he sighs tracing a line down my sternum. What is he looking at? “When we got to you, you were dead. You didn’t have a pulse and you weren’t breathing.” He looks up at me, tears line the edge of his brown eyes. “You were dead Jean, there was a hole in your chest the size of a softball.”   
My breath catches, I look up at the beautifully sad boy in front of me who saw me...die? I was dead? Then how am I alive now? And what is that emptiness in my chest? I hesitantly look down at my bare torso. An impressive and twisted scar covers most of my upper torso. The main part is a weird curved shape that has spidery lines that stick out reaching the bottom of my ribs all the way up to my collarbone. It’s a dark tone of my skin mixed with a weird blueish tinge. There’s another scar down the center of my chest straight and thin, black sutures line evenly down it. It has to be a separate scar from the big ghoulish looking one, it’s still puffy and bright pink. The big scar tightens my skin unnaturally making me look like a science experiment. It sits unnaturally in my chest giving about a half centimeter ridge around the thing. How in the hell did I survive that?   
I swallow and look back up at Marco, his hand still lingers at the end point of a spider web that stops two inches from my belly button. I bring my hand up to curl it into his, he looks up at me again with is terribly sad eyes. I give his hand a squeeze and try to look as confident as I can.  
“I’m here now Marco,” I say pulling his arm closer, “I’m here now and I won’t let this happen again.” I wince as I sit up, I take my other hand and slide it to the back of his neck. “I’m never going to leave you.” I whisper the promise to him, there’s no way for me to know if I’ll be able to keep it, but it’s what I feel. It’s what I want. If the circumstances didn’t matter I’d be able to keep this forsaken promise to him. I just want him to never look at me the way he is now. Not because of me.  
I’m so confused and I have so many questions, but all that seems to matter is Marco. Something happened back at the cemetery. Something I don’t remember. Something bad. And now it’s four days later and Marco looks like he hasn’t slept in a week as his traces the terrifying scars on my chest with this horrified expression on his face. I hold him hoping it’s comforting. I have no idea what he saw and I can’t change anything. All I can do is be there for him now.   
The reoccuring instinct to kiss him finds it’s way to the back to my brain. He’s sitting there with my hand holding his jaw and our fingers intertwined. His face is so bruised up, I wonder why Mikasa hasn’t healed him yet. My eyes trail over his skin and down to his lips, I notice as his tongue pokes out a bit to wet his bottom lip, the motion makes my stomach flutter.   
I look back up to his eyes. “Y’know,” I mumble filling the small void between us, “I’d totally kiss you right now if I hadn’t just puked up ectoplasm.” The tension breaks and Marco falls into a fit of giggles. The sorrowful and worn expression is wiped from his face and he’s back to his lighthearted self. I see him smile and the coldness in my chest warms up a bit. Marco falls forward and rests his head on my shoulder still laughing beside himself.   
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him back into the bed with me. He rolls to the side avoiding my zombie chest. He rests next to me still smiling his fucking gorgeous smile. I still really want to kiss him, but I’m sure that’d be horrible for him right now tasting whatever just came out of my body on my cold lips, and I just don’t want him to remember our first kiss as being disgusting.   
“There’s a lot you missed,” Marco sighs reaching to intertwine our fingers again, “Like this.” He takes my hand and places it on my chest my palm resting over my heart. He looks from my hand to my eyes with a bit of hesitance in his expression. “Do you...feel anything?”   
I look at him like he just grew a finger out of his forehead. “What are you talking about?” I ask feeling the unnatural pothole in my chest where the scar is.   
“Your heartbeat,” he says, “Can you feel it?”   
I give one last weird look at Marco then concentrate on my heartbeat. Why would he ask-  
I…  
I can’t feel it.   
As I try to contain my panic, I sit up and stick two fingers to my neck feeling around for the pulse that should be there. Nothing. I try to find it in my wrist (which I’ve never been able to do even when I had a pulse) and start to actually panic. I don’t have a pulse. Is my heart not beating? How am I awake? How am I alive? How did Marco know?   
“Wha-Why-What’s wrong with me?” I huff out still frantically searching my chest for a single beat of my heart. Marco sits up and tries to calm my flailing hands.   
“Whoa whoa whoa, it’s okay, Hanji has it,” he says as if it meant anything to me.  
“My heartbeat? Who has my fucking heartbeat?!” My breath is ragged and heavy, Marco’s failing efforts to calm me only making it worse.   
“No nono, she doesn’t have your heartbeat,” he says with both of my wrists in his hands and a genuine look in his eyes, “She has your heart.”   
I freeze and stare at him. Has he gone crazy? Is he actually thinking straight right now? Does he even know what he’s talking about?   
I stare at him, “People can’t live without hearts, Marco,” I say tight lipped.   
He lets out a sigh, “I know I know, but you're kind of in a different circumstance.”   
I go to speak but I have no fucking clue what to say. He’s telling me that I literally do not have a heart. I have no pulse and no blood running through my veins. He’s a teacher he should know the basics of biology.   
“I’ll show you,” he says loosening his grip on my wrists. What do I do? He wants to prove to me that I am, in fact, heartless. I can only manage a single nod to let him do whatever he needs to do. “Okay, good,” he mutters. He cautiously climbs off the bed and helps take the covers off of me. He wipes his palms down his thighs and give me a once over. “Let’s see if you can walk first.”  
“Marco-”  
“It’s okay, just let me get another hand,” he says before walking out of the room.   
Fuck.   
Like what the fuck is actually going on?   
I drag my still numb and noodly legs over the side of the bed and rest my toes in the thick rug. I ease pressure onto my feet and feel the static of sleepy limbs climb up my legs. My limbs are still numb and creaky like I’m a forgotten doll that’s been played with for the first time in years. I can only feel the anxiety in my stomach; little butterflies form a swarm in the apprehension of what I’ve gotten myself into. My heart does nothing; no fluttering nor slamming against my chest, nothing. All I can hope is that it isn’t left to rot back at the cemetery by Marco’s house. Or worse.   
Marco trots back into our room with a cane in his hands and a wince on his face.   
“Really?” I groan.   
“Everyone’s kind of busy,” he shrugs, “And besides,” he says looking down at the wood carved cane that I have no idea where he got it from, “It’s better than a walker.”   
I roll my eyes and let him help me to my feet. I rely fully on him once again to hold up my sack of bones that I call my body. This time we know how we fit together though, we just go right back to the place where we knew was comfortable back at the cemetery. I hope this isn’t practice for the future…  
Marco hands me the cane once we’re on four feet; both of mine numb and feeling slightly like marshmallows, so I hesitantly take the cane and tighten my grip around his shoulders. We take a few steps and it’s not as bad as I thought. I still feel like a newborn taking his first steps but at least my feet are moving and I can support some sort of weight. We get to the door and I let out an exhausted sigh.   
“Tell me Professor,” I say, “Did I lose my dignity along with my heart?”   
Marco shakes his head and laughs, “Stop being so overdramatic.”   
I roll my eyes and we wobble down the hallway. Oddly enough, there’s no one occupying the nearby guest rooms. Granted, it’s about noon now and no one’s probably asleep, but it just seems weird.   
I manage down the stairs by ushering Marco in front of me as I clutch on both the handrail and my cane for dear life. It takes nearly a lifetime to get down the staircase but at least I do it by myself. Marco catches be at the landing as I sweat and breathe heavy breaths in his face; he just smiles and congratulates me like I’m some wobbly toddler.   
“Where to Captain?” I breathe. Marco turns taking my hand and weaving it under his elbow so I can hold onto his arm as we walk.   
“They’ve fashioned some sort of lab for Hanji in Armin’s Study. She only ever comes out to check on you,” he says rubbing his nose. He’s stupidly cute.   
“Who the fuck is this Hanji person?” I grunt feeling a cold chill run up my spine. I think it’s even colder down here than it was upstairs. I huddle closer to Marco to feel his warmth from his sweats.   
“Heh, well,” Marco mumbles scratching the back of his neck, “When we brought you back here after the, uh, cemetery, Levi called her for help to kind of bring you-er-put you back together.”   
I raise an eyebrow at him, he’s obviously beating around the bush.   
He sighs. “She’s technically a witch, but she specializes in...necromancy.”  
“Ew, what the hell? Why the fuck would Levi call a necromancer?” My skin crawls with the idea of the necromancer who had just taken a bucket of my own puke only twenty minutes ago.   
“I don’t really know the specifics of what they did, but they brought you back and that’s all I care about,” he says looking at me with his pretty brown eyes.   
I bite my lip and squeeze onto his arm. “You keep saying that, what do you mean brought me back?”   
Marco takes a deep breath and smiles sadly. “Just let them explain,” he sighs resting his free hand over mine warming up my skeletal fingers.   
My stomach sags at having to talk to a necromancer and a witch. I mean, sure, I talk to dead people, but a necromancer? They choose to talk to dead people. They choose to get into weird shit involving dark magic and poisonous arts. They choose to live their life with both the dead and the living. I don’t think I can trust someone like that.   
We make it to the study and I can already fucking smell the sin coming from the other side of the wooden door. My stomach curls in resistance. Marco pats my hand reassuringly and he knocks on the door. Something clangs and falls in the room and I hear both grumbling curses and high pitched yelling as someone scrambles to the door.   
The door opens quickly and a very wide eyed and fuzzy haired Eren peeks through the crack. His expression brightens when he sees me and I can’t help but feel relaxed by the familiar face.   
“It’s Jean!” he yells behind him. Another yell echos and the door is swung open all the way revealing another crazy-eyed fuzzy haired woman standing next to Eren. It’s the chick who punched my chest and make me puke, I unconsciously take a step back.   
“The infamous Jean Kirstein, I’ve heard so much about you!” she yells in Marco and I’s faces, “Please! Come in come in.” She beckons us into the room with an evil glint in her eyes. I pull a bit at Marco trying to tell him that I do not want to fucking go in there, but he only shuffles along with me in tow.   
We walk into the room and the smell of something dead and rotten hits me like a fucking brick. I might just fucking puke if I hadn’t already. The room is completely changed, the only remnants of Armin’s Study is a shadowy backdrop of decaying books. There are tables that I don’t recognize scattered haphazardly around the room covered in jars and bubbling liquids of all sorts of colors. Papers are strewn about the furniture with red scribblings on all of them. A weird glowing fluorescent light casts weird greenish glow over the monstrosity of a room. The far side of the room is left in an ominous shadow that I don’t want to go near. I feel like we are walking into Dr. Frankenstein's lab; guess it’s fitting for Frankenstein's monster.   
Hanji, who’s wearing a big sweater under a rubber apron and giant rubber gloves, ushers us to a table towards the green light. She skips to the other side of the table and snaps on a pair of black circular goggles over her glasses and grins down at a bubbling reddish brown liquid in a beaker. “Come here come here, I want to show you something.”   
I swallow and give Marco a side look, he looks like he’s trying to hide his concern with a curious face, it makes me want to laugh. I hesitantly turn back to Hanji and watch her as she takes a turkey baister and sucks up the liquid. She then turns to an adjacent table beside her that has a weird machine that looks like it comes from the dawn of the industrial era that holds a glass jar with a frozen black rock that’s being hung by four wires who are connected to the machine.   
“Eren!” Hanji shouts even though Eren’s standing beside us, “The extractor,” she grins. Eren scuttles to the table and flips a bunch of switches and turns some knobs, flipping his own pair of goggles down. He straightens and yells an affirmation at Hanji who nods. Only now am I confused why Eren is being Hanji’s Egor?  
“Watch carefully,” she hums as she squeezes the liquid over the black rock. Nothing happens at first, but then the rock starts to steam, it omits wispy streams of white and red clouds until it’s sucked towards the bottom of the jar by a vent. The rock has the back color drained from it until it’s a bright red. It doesn’t look like a rock anymore, it’s like an organ, it’s a healthy red and pink color as all of the black has been sucked up by the vacuum. It looks like a - the rock unmistakably pumps - heart.   
Hanji squeals at the single beat, the jar clears of all fog and smoky wisps and I stare blankly at a fucking heart in a jar. My heart. The machine cuts off and a sickening rumbling sound echos from the jar as the muscle shrivels back to the black shrunken rock that was there before.  
My stomach drops and my head spins.   
What the fuck?   
Is that really my heart?   
Am I seriously alive right now?   
Hanji plucks a vial from the end of the machine and looks at the brownish liquid inside. She smiles and places it in a rack with a dozen other vials with ranging shades of black and brown. Yep, I think I’m going to puke again.   
She turns and bounces on her toes. “Did you see that?! It just extracted tainted soul from your heart! All I have to do is to get all the poison out and then I should be able to infuse the remaining salvageable parts of your heart and implant them into a soul stone so then you won’t die from being eaten by spirits again, isn’t that great?!”   
I stare at her as my vision tunnels. The fluorescent light dims a soft green and all I can see is Hanji and my black rock of a heart. Am I dead? Am I a ghost? Is this even fucking real?   
“Jean?” I hear Marco’s echoed voice like it’s underwater as my grip loosens on his arm and on the cane. I nearly make a nose dive for the very unsanitary ground but Marco catches me once again, my knight in shining armor.   
I want to form words but my tongue feels like it’s dead along with the rest of my limpy fish body. Marco drags me out of the Study against someone’s muddled protests and pulls me down the hall to what I assume is the Library.   
He lets me flop onto a couch in the quiet room that thankfully doesn’t smell like regurgitated decaying innards. I let Marco bring me back to consciousness and watch him as my vision focuses back around him. He brushes my hair out of my face and whispers sweet nothings to sooth my sporadic nerves.  
“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he hums noticing my eyes starting to clear up, “Hey, I’m really sorry, that was probably too much at once.” He runs his warm hand along my cheek and I lean into his touch. “Let me get you some water.” He scuttles away and comes back with a glass of water.   
He lets me drink some and I look back up at him as he sits on the floor next to the couch. “You’re killing me,” I huff as his familiar fingers find mine.   
“I know I’m sorry, I just,” he sighs and drops his head to the edge of the couch, “This is all so confusing, I just want you to know what’s going on.”   
I take my hand back from his and let my fingers run through his tangled hair. I don’t know that last time he took a shower. I don’t know the last time I took a shower. But I don’t care. There’s too much shit around to care about showers right now.   
“Why don’t you explain everything to me?” I ask in a hushed voice. He looks up like a little puppy with his chin resting on the couch. My hand trails from the back of his head to his cheek as he does so, feeling the stubble and scabbed scrapes along his jaw.   
“Because even I don’t know what’s going on,” he mutters pathetically.   
I curl a loose strand of dark hair behind his ear. “Try,” I say willing him explain everything mostly from my fear of having literally anyone else do it.   
He sighs and sits up laying his arm across my stomach with his hand resting along the side of my ribs, and I lay my arm on top of his. He looks up at me with tired eyes and shrugs, “I don’t know where to start.”  
I take his free hand and weave my grimy fingers into his slender ones and rub circles at the base of his thumb. I sigh and bite my lip, “How about what happened after your grandfather plunged his hand into my chest,” I say with a bit too much malice.   
Marco winces at the memory and squeezes my hand, “Well, I kinda haven’t told you everything,” he mumbles. His eyes flick to our hands something like shame and guilt darken his eyes.   
I raise my eyebrows, “Yeah that’s kinda the point,” I chuckle trying to lighten his change of mood.  
He knits his eyebrows together and his eyes are lost to our fingers. “No, like, things I should’ve told you before,” he says chewing at his lip. “I haven’t been completely honest with you Jean,” he says looking back up to me. If I had a heart, I imagine it’d skip a beat. Marco’s change of tone isn’t very comforting.   
“No better time to tell me than now,” I shrug. I think about his mother oddly enough, for obvious reasons that whole situation doesn’t rub me right. Especially with his sisters already knowing about me and the fact that his dead grandfather ripped my heart out.   
“Well, my family, first of all, isn’t really normal,” he says with a wincing smile, he takes his hand back to run it through his hair then lets it motion through the air as he speaks, “My mom, she was a psychic, a strong one. She knew about things that wouldn’t happen for years, she’d known about the apocalypse ever since she was a little girl. She was even stronger than my grandfather. Although she never told anyone about her visions, she believed that her ability as a psychic wasn’t something to be shared, she didn’t want to become a prophet. Ever since I began having visions and dreams, she’d always be the first person I’d go to, she always knew what to say, even till the end.” He swallows and stares at something past my head absentmindedly.   
“She’s sounds lovely,” I murmur bringing him back from la la land.   
“Yeah, she was,” he looks back at me and smiles, “You probably would’ve liked her, she was bold and fiery and willing to do anything. That’s where Amelia gets it.”   
“Are you the only psychic out of your siblings?” I ask reminded of Amelia and his younger sister.   
“Yeah actually,” he hums, “But my father had a bit of magic in him too and that’s where Olli gets her healing abilities.”   
I remember Marco’s younger sister that had bandaged up my nose and held my hand. Olli, I guess is her name.  
I nod, “And Amelia?”  
Marco fidgets uncomfortably, “Yeah, well, Amelia wasn’t really born with any supernatural gifts…” he says awkwardly.   
I raise and eyebrow again, which seems to be the only form of motivation for Marco to further explain things.   
“She’s kind of a werewolf?” he says like a question.   
For some reason I can’t process this at first. Like, okay, yes….a werewolf...yes.   
“A werewolf?” I mutter.   
“A werewolf,” he says again, “Well, when she was a teenager and I was going through my psychic puberty she got jealous and started sneaking out and stuff, eventually she got caught with the wrong crowd and they were werewolves, so yeah.”   
Right. Werewolves.   
I knew they were real. Just like most other mythological and fantastical beings, but I’ve just never really expected one to come along. It’s oddly like meeting Santa Claus or something.   
We sit there for a second in awkward silence. His arm around me is comforting and grounding, but I’m still just trying to accept this. Eren would pee his pants. But I think about when we’d talked to her a few days ago. How she seemed so angry and violent, how her eyes seemed to glow; guess I wasn’t going crazy.   
“Okay,” I mumble twisting the fabric of Marco sleeve mindlessly in between my fingers.   
“Yeah, but, a-anyway,” he stutters, “That’s how we were able to get to you. I saw you, like, floating in the air and then you just collapsed. I tried to climb the gate but every time I got about halfway up something knocked me off.  
“I ran back to the house to get Amelia to knock down the gates, she went wolf and tore it to shreds, I think she only did it because I was hurt and begging, she was protective even before she Turned. But when we got to you,” he lets out a shaky breath, “you were just l-laying there...dead. You didn’t have a pulse and you weren’t breathing and you had a-” he catches himself before he loses it, his eye trail to my chest and he drags his hand over the pothole where my heart’s supposed to be, “You...you h-had a hole in your chest the size of a giant fist,” his pretty brown eyes line with tears, “You were staring up at nothing-the light was gone.”   
He takes a moment to try and erase the memory, he closes his eyes and runs a hand down his face. “And despite what Amelia wanted they helped me bring you back here,” he looks up at me and bites his lip. His eyes, his poor sad eyes. I trail my hand up to his cheek to run my thumb over a tear, he leans into the touch and turns to kiss the palm of my hand. “When they saw you, they thought it was the end...of everything. Armin had a panic attack, Eren started punching everything, Mikasa was crying and trying to heal you, even Annie cried,” he shakily sighs, “Levi was the only one that stayed calm, he immediately called Hanji and she was there within the hour. They started working on you right at the doorway.   
“I puked when Hanji took out your heart, it was in worse shape than when you saw it earlier. They were doing all their magic and healing, and poor Mikasa couldn’t keep up with Hanji and Levi, she even passed out a few times, and after hours of them working nonstop and nothing happening, I thought we’d really lost you. I started to have visions about the end of the world; about floods and fire and pain and suffering, I saw the world fall to Hades and everything and everyone die in horrifying ways,” he holds me a little tighter and sniffs, “But in the morning, Hanji figured out what happened,” he looks back at me a little confused, “Apparently the spirits in the graveyard were taking parts of your soul to connect with you, but there were too many and they pretty much swallowed you up. But Hanji said that if she could extract every piece of your soul and put them back into you, that you would live; supposedly you don’t need a heart to live because you’re already half dead or something.”  
“That’s nice,” I mutter still wanting my fucking heart back.   
“Yeah, but she did it, with the help of Levi’s power and Mikasa’s healing, you came back.” He looks up at me and smiles, that hopeful look in his eyes lets me forget about the fact that I’m practically a zombie. “She said you would’ve completely been gone if you weren't so strong, I think that’s the main thing she wants to ask you: how did you survive it?”   
I know Marco isn’t actually asking the question, I think he’s just happy that I’m somewhat alive. But people like Hanji and Levi and even Armin will want answers. They’ll use me as research for necromancy and I’ll go down in the books as fucking Harry Potter. I look at Marco and remember what I had to do in the panicky last moments of my survival. Somehow I can actually remember it, Hanji must of done a good job at getting all my memories back. But I remember holding onto the thought of Marco like a sentimental last resort to life or death. The vision of his brown eyes and freaked cheeks, his heart warming smile and his stupid green sweatshirt. He was what kept me alive.   
“It was you,” I mumble running my thumb along his jaw. He looks at me confused. I smile, “It was you, you’re what kept me alive.”   
He freezes looking at me with something like confusion, fear, hope, and surprise all in one. He mouth opens just a bit as he tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes, he sits there and looks at me - speechless.   
Before I can think of something to say to snap him out of his brain fart, he sits up and plunges into me. Our lips collide in a mess of need and longing, we’ve waited too long for this. I’m finally fucking kissing Marco Bodt. This isn’t something that became over only a week, this is fate, this is how it was always supposed to me. It’s been Marco and I from the start. The need for his touch and his kiss and his love have been caged for all of my life until now. And here we are, after and eternity of waiting, the feeling so right and so perfect. This is it. This is how it should’ve always been.   
My hand slides to the back of his neck and I pull him closer willing the smallest amount of space between us to be long gone. His hand pulls at my shoulder grabbing at the fabric of my sweatshirt. Our breath comes out in airy sighs as our lips tangle and mend in a synchronized dance. Unpracticed and unprepared, our lips still move in time with each other, something so perfect and so right that this has to be something out of a fairy tale.   
We slow until we are leaving little pecks that brush against our lips as sweet gentle reminders. Marco pulls back enough to where we’re just looking at each other. His pupils are blown and his lips a pretty shade of red. I look at him with his messed up hair and little smirk; forget cute, this kid is hot as fuck.   
He smiles a little and I pretty sure it’s at my blushing. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he says low and hushed.   
“Me too,” I say still holding onto his face. “And our timing is impeccable,” I smile.   
Marco rolls his eyes and leans back to sit on his heals, “Shut up,” he chuckles. I struggle to sit up in front of him as my body gives it’s now familiar pops and cracks. I lean forward to kiss him again, his taste so sweet and warm. He reminds me of home.   
“Oh,” he mumbles tragically pulling away again, “And there’s, like, two feet of snow outside.”   
“What?” I stare back at him only inches from his face.   
He smiles and stands holding his hand out to help me up like the old man I am. He helps me to the window and I don’t know how I didn’t notice before but it’s literally snowing. I stare in awe at the floating white flurries that drift to the blanketed ground. I’ve never seen snow before. I’ve lived in South Carolina all my life and it’s way too fucking hot for it to ever snow. I’ve only ever seen it in pictures or movies.   
“The temperature was dropping pretty quickly when you were still awake but when you, uh, clocked out, it nearly froze over night and it’s been snowing ever since. I think it’s starting to slow down at least,” he says next to me.   
I smile and raise a hand to the window letting my palm rest against the frozen glass. It looks so peaceful, so pure and beautiful. My heartless chest swells with the fulfilling dream of finally getting to see snow in person. I take my hand back and rest my head on Marco’s shoulder. He’s so warm and this is so beautiful; I try to ignore the fact that it’s September in South Carolina and that this is completely unnatural. I just want to be here with Marco and this beautiful snow.   
“Wanna go?” Marco mumbles as he nudges me with his elbow.   
I perk up and look at him with stupid childish glee in my eyes. “Hell yeah.”   
-  
Marco helps me bundle up before we go outside. We have to hunt down some extra sweatshirts and some gloves but we eventually find enough clothes to suffice as winter attire. We take a few makeout breaks which have the opposite effect of putting on more layers of clothing, but I don’t care, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long fucking time.   
I get a look at myself for the first time since I woke up. And holy hell. I don’t know how Marco thought it’d be a good idea to kiss me. Not only am I some sort of zombie now, I literally look like one. My skin is nearly completely devoid of all color. I’m somehow paler than before and I didn’t even think that was possible. I imagine if Sasha saw me it’d only prove her point about me being a vampire. My eyes are sunken and dull, my lips dry and pale, my hair is just plain gross. I lift my shirt to take a closer look at the gnarly scar that’ll be there for the rest of eternity. The scar is the only source of color along my body, being a pink, red, and white map along my chest. The farthest point of the scar range from just above my belly button all the way to my collar bone. I imagine how it must’ve looked to Marco when I was cracked open like a fucking walnut. I feel guilty for making him have to go through that.   
I knew I was skinny before, but now I look like a fucking skeleton. I can count my ribs along my chest and my sides. My hipbones stick out awkwardly and my collarbones poke up from my shoulders. At least my nose isn’t broken anymore. It must’ve been healed when Hanji, Levi, and Mikasa were working their magic. I wonder how long that’ll last.   
Marco notices me staring painfully at my shell of a body and forces me to turn away from the mirror. He stuffs another sweatshirt over my head and kisses me again. He says nothing, but looks at me like he doesn’t care what I look like, he looks at my soul and seems completely satisfied. I ignore the nagging in the back of my head about how disturbing and nearly terrifying I look being a skeletal zombie, I let Marco’s eyes and his touch tell me that everything is okay. I’ll self loath later.   
We find some boots, stuff on beanies, and we’re off. I leave the cane and let Marco be my crutch. We shuffle to the front door and I notice some disturbing stains on the rug at the landing that must’ve been from me. I ignore them and let Marco lead me. We make it to the door and I’m jittering with excitement. Marco smiles and opens the door- Holyfuckit’scold.  
“Hoh my god,” I grunt against the cold wind that blows through the entryway. Marco giggles as I curl closer into him and his cozy sweaters.   
We stumble into the cold wrapped around each other. It’s so fucking cold. I almost forget how pretty everything is by how goddamn cold it is. Marco tows me down the sidewalk that looks like it was attempted to be shoveled a while ago and leads us to the garden where the trees and flowers are dull and sagging under the cold. It’s an interesting view of both beauty and sorrow. The leaves have dulled to yellows and browns covered by a thin sheet of pure white. The flowers sag and wilt from the cold.   
We turn around the side of the house to see the beach in the distance. The waves still roll with quiet calming swings back and forth along the sand and snow mixed land. There’s no boats on the water. I don’t think there’d be anyone crazy enough to go out when it’s this fucking cold. We stroll to the beach kicking up snow and feeling it melt into my pants.   
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Marco hums. I look over at him and notice how the sun reflects off the snow lighting up his eyes and making his skin look flawless despite the scars. Snowflakes catch in his long eyelashes and the tip of his nose is has a soft pink tinge. He looks so content and calm: I like seeing him this way. No creases in his forehead or in between his eyebrows that show any sort of distress. He’s just satisfied, happy.   
“Gorgeous,” I say unable to keep myself from smiling. He looks over at me oogling him and blushes.   
“Shut up,” he mumbles as I lean in to kiss him. We saunter our way to the back of the house and I notice the giant blue tarp that’s covering where the stained glass window used to be. It flutters and rustles in the wind reminding me of the terror that happen only a week ago.   
The cold breeze bites at my cheeks and nose, my eyes start to burn and I consider that the snow is much prettier from indoors. My breath comes out in a fog and I’m some what comforted by the fact that I can still breathe. I start to shiver as the cold finds its way under my collar and up my sleeves, I cling onto Marco tighter and nudge my face into his shoulder.   
“Have you ever seen snow before?” he asks looking totally unaffected by how fucking cold it is.   
I shake my head. “Never,” I mumble into his sweatshirt. “Have you?”  
“Yeah, actually,” he smiles, “My father’s family lives up by Boston ironically, we would see them for Christmas every other year.”  
“How is that ironic?” I ask.   
He takes a little side look at me and back at the ocean. “My dad, who’s a witch, in Boston, which is by Salem.”   
“Ohhh,” I say finally getting it. It’s so weird that Marco grew up with all this magic stuff. It’s normal for him. He could talk about it with anyone in his family and he wasn’t considered crazy. I grew up talking about ghosts to my therapist who thought I was a schizo. I had to lie my way out of therapy and act like seeing ghosts wasn’t a big deal. Only now has it become anything relevant. “What…” I nervously begin to ask, “Where’s your dad?”   
Marco sighs and tilts his head. “No one really knows,” he mumbles, “Some of us think he ran away from my mom, some of us think he’s hiding in Massachusetts, and most of us think he’s dead.”  
I tense at his bluntness. “When did that happen?”  
“Like, 10 years ago, my mom never really got upset about it so it wasn’t really made into a big deal,” he shrugs.  
I look up at him and sniff. “What do you think?”  
“I made my peace with it a while ago,” he sighs, “He was always so distant and troubled. I think he felt guilty for what I had to go through, and especially after Amelia Turned, he was just beside himself with concern and loss.”   
I nod and try to be thankful that both of my parents are still alive and well living in Mount Pleasant with two puppies. I stomach twists remembering that I haven’t talked to my mom in months, especially now after I almost died. I snuggle closer to Marco. I don’t know how he can be so kind and caring when there’s so much shit in his life. He’s so much stronger than I am. I’m incomparable to him.   
“It’s fucking freezing,” I grumble into his sweatshirt. He chuckles and kisses the top of my head.   
“That’s kinda the point,” he laughs. “Wanna go inside?”  
I nod and he drags us both back to the front of the house. I kick through the footprints we made feeling practically nothing in my frozen toes. Before we get to the landing I pull back on Marco.   
“Hold on, I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say bending down and letting go of Marco. I grab a handful of snow in my hand a squish it between my palms. I’ve never really done this before so it takes me a few times before I actually get something going. I take the sphere of ice and snow in my hand and stand back up looking at Marco with an evil glint to my eyes. I raise the snowball over my head and Marco steps back as he raises his hands.   
“Wait-” Marco begins to say before the snowball I’ve just thrown at him explodes at his chest. Chunks of snow cling to his sweatshirt and face and I bend over laughing. He stands there with the ‘I can’t believe you, you giant dork’ look to his face. I continue to laugh as he bends to grab a pile of snow and expertly shapes out a snowball and pelts it at me. It hits me in the shoulder as I’m making more snowballs and haphazardly tossing them in the direction where Marco is as he just grabs handfuls of snow and throws them at me.   
I stumble around as I’m still trying to get used to walking with my zombie legs, but I manage some good shots at Marco who has terrible aim. He’s smiling and laughing and I don’t want this to end. I drop to my knees and throw snowball after snowfall at the giggly and adorable professor who struggles to hit me with snow.   
He throws piles of snow and it rains down on me in soft fluttering chunks almost like a splash of water. I make a bunch of ammo and carry them in my arms as I stand and knock into Marco smashing balls of snow over him and knocking the both of us over. I squirm on top of him grabbing handfuls and wiping it in his reddened smiling face.   
The moment is so pure and innocent forgetting everything that happen and about the apocalypse and the fact that I’m a zombie as Marco drops whatever snow he has in his hands and grabs my face pulling me in for another much appreciated kiss.  
We kiss until my lips are the only thing left warm on my body. I lean back and smile and the freckled professor. “Ever had any visions about this?”  
He smiles, “Unfortunately when the world is ending my brain doesn’t really think it’s important whenever an attractive dude might pass my way.”   
“Too bad,” I sigh, “Although, I guess I’ll be able to surprise you, then?” I charm with a quirk of an eyebrow. I bite my lip trying to scrounge up some form of sexiness that Marco totally ruins by kissing me on the nose.   
“Not with that blush you won’t,” he giggles as my face burns and I’m half tempted to dive into the snow. I roll off him as he’s still giggling. “C’mon,” he relents, “Lets get you inside before you freeze to death.”  
I groan as I let Marco haul us up and shuffle to the door. He drags us to the kitchen and helps peel off the soak layers of sweatshirts until I’m almost bare. He wraps a blanket around my shoulders and goes to make us some hot chocolate. I watch him with a dorky smile on my face as he’s lost in Armin’s giant kitchen looking for all his coca needs. He hums to himself as he circles around the kitchen. I don’t know if the emptiness in my chest will ever go away, but if Marco’s here humming to himself in his underwear as he makes homemade hot chocolate, that emptiness is easier to manage.


	7. Childish Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On day I'll post at the right time.  
> xx

I’ve been casted under a spell.  
Once I noticed that I was becoming succumb to his power, I was a gonner.   
I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t fucking shower without the familiar buzz of his magic fluttering in my stomach. I don’t even think the same way I used to; it revolves around him. It’s always him.   
Even as I sit here in stoic silence with Annie in the Library staring out at the white blanketed ground, I’m itching for him. I wait for him to come through the doors with two mugs of his (addictive) hot chocolate in his hands and a content little smile on his face. I wait to feel him sat next to me or on top of me (these past few day I’ve found that Marco has an uncanny similarity to a puppy) with his smell of cinnamon and peaches and his warm hand in mine. I want to kiss his is round lips and sloped nose and all the little freckl-  
“You’re hopeless,” Annie groans in front of me. I catch myself lost in thought looking at the door and turn back to the grumbling blonde wrapped in a wool blanket. I roll my eyes and sink deeper into my chair.   
I come up with the most dignifying retort that I can to salvage myself some self respect, “Whatever,” I snort. Smooth. Annie gives me a bland look with a raised eyebrow to prove her superiority.   
I sink further into the couch and try to nonchalantly hide my face in my sweatshirt (which was cleverly stolen from Marco this morning.) But Annie’s shamefully right; I’m hopeless. I can’t help feeling this way. I kind of hate it. I rarely form any emotional bond to people; it’s messy, it’s pathetic, it’s a waste of time. The only other time I really got attached to someone was with Mikasa, and we all know how that ended. So I’m used to the whole fucking-and-forgetting thing. I don’t like to get involved, but with Marco, ugh, I’m a mess.   
All I want is to be with Marco. I want to hold him as he sleeps, listen to him tell funny stories about him and his siblings, take him to fancy restaurants, watch him as he cooks, show him my stories, watch scary movies, anything. I just want to be around him, like, all the time. What is wrong with me?   
Things have kind of slowed down since I woke up apparently. It’s been almost a week since my revival. In the meantime, Marco and I have been hanging out. We stay out of the apocalypse stuff the best we can. Armin is still on the frontlines with the preparations for it. Mikasa is working with Levi on getting the supplies for the magical bandaid that we need to put on the breach between the dimensions. Eren is playing Egor with our Dr. Frankenstein of a necromancer, Hanji. Even Amelia and Olli have decided to stay here with us to help Armin out a bit. Marco’s Mom’s book looks like it has some stuff that we can use to prepare too. Annie has joined Marco and I’s club of trying to stay out of it.   
So, this past week, Marco and I have had a half a dozen snowball fights, watched as many shitty paranormal horror movies and romcoms as we can in one night, had a cook-off to see who could make the best turkey-melt, and had many infuriating staring contests that always seemed to end in a make out session. But with this mutually agreed house arrest we’ve mostly been wrapped around each other in blanket burritos just talking about whatever pops into our heads; anything besides the apocalypse that is. I’ve learned a lot about Marco this past week. More than I could’ve asked for at the end of the world. He’s told me about where he went to school, how he was super anti social during his ‘psychic puberty’ as he likes to call it, where his favorite place to go on his off days, how he had a vision about a student that was going to commit suicide two years ago that he tried to stop, how he doesn’t prefer dogs or cats and that he likes all animals, how in love he is with Christmas, how he has a lucky bowtie that Olli gave him, and many more things that make me want to hold him tighter at night.   
It’s been a little harder for me to talk as easily as Marco has been, I’ve just always been that way. I don’t like to tell people everything because then they know things about me. And I can’t just have people going around knowing things about me, do you know how dangerous that is? Marco tells me I’m crazy, I say I’m being cautious. Whatever the matter, Marco still has a way off getting the information out of me. I’ve told him how I grew up, how I’m an only child, how I live mostly off of cold coffee and Eren’s leftovers, how I’m a tour guide in the summers for ghost tours around Charleston, how I personally know random ghosts around the city and go and talk to them whenever I’m bored, where my favorite bar is, and about my conflicting love for the beach. He even got me to tell him about my blog, I told him that if he read any of my stories that he’d die in his sleep, he said he’d think about it. I haven’t told him about my drawings yet, I plan to do that when I’ve finished the one I’m working on now.   
Most everything’s been great since I came back, besides the fact that Glenn is gone. My ghost goldfish partner in crime was probably taken from me when Hanji had to rip spirits from my soul. I think I miss him, but I’m a little distracted with Marco’s stories and kisses. Plus, my walking has gotten better. Marco’s been taking me on walks through the snowed in garden to help me practice. I don’t have to hang onto him like a leech anymore, although I still need the cane, Hanji says that I shouldn’t need it eventually.   
I turn to the silent Annie who's staring out the window not-so-innocently and probably reading everything that pops into my head. I swallow the bit of pride that it takes for me to say this, “Am I wrong?” I ask in mumbled hesitation.   
Annie turns to me looking a little blindsided to the weird questioned I just asked. “About what?” she states.   
I sigh and roll my eyes, “Spare me, Telepath, you know what,” I grumble at her. Not only do I hate myself for feeling this way right now, but I also hate myself for trying to scrounge a shred of sarcastic relationship advice from the person who is probably the worst person to have any kind of relationship with.   
Annie sighs and turns back to the window bored as ever, “I don’t care Jean.”   
I huff out a breath of frustration, “I know you don’t care, Annie, but that’s not what I asked you, I asked you if I am wrong for feeling this way. I’m practically opening the door for you to punch me in the face freely and it’s not really like Annie Leonhart to give up the opportunity.”   
I think I saw a quirk to the edge of her lip at my half complement half insult to her. She sits there in silence in front of the snot nosed pathetic prepubescent love struck teenage boy that is me. I fiddle with the edge of my sleeve and wait for Annie’s response as I self loath.   
“I’ve never seen you this way,” she starts looking over to me, “this...pathetic.”  
“Thanks-”  
“But from where I stand I think he has the same feelings for you,” she sighs.   
My chest burns with the blush of the thought. I try to contain my flattery as Annie continues to speak.   
“Although,” she says, “It’s the end of the world, and you two are the prophesized to either live or die, and you’ve already died so I’m thinking your chances of survival have at least been cut in half.”  
“Okay, but-”  
“Your relationship is doomed. It’s highly unlikely that both of you will see the end of this, and no matter what happens, you both will be hollowed and broken by the time it’s over.”   
The warm fuzzies dissipates from my chest. I avoid eye contact with Annie and look shamefully at my fidgeting hands as her words make my stomach drop.   
“My advice? Stop it now before it’s too distracting to do your job right. If it doesn’t kill you, it’ll kill him. This is all just another thing you want to do before you die,” she pauses. I look up at her with eyes of hurt and fury. She stares back with her unforgiving coldness. “You want to fall in love.”   
I don’t know if I want to cry or scream or punch something but I can’t just sit here and be told that my fucking feelings are going to end the world. This isn’t fair. And Annie’s a bitch. I ignore the fact that I asked her the question in the first place and stand with the heat of anger running through my veins. I stare down at her trying to mask my pain with fury, it’s childish and stupid but it’s the only line of defense I have to keep my dignity.   
“I’m not falling in love Annie,” I huff with my fists clenched at my sides, “Love is for the weak, I would never bother with something so childish.” I straighten out and calm some of my nerves trying to amp my bitch-mode to level Annie Leonhart, “Wouldn’t you agree? Isn’t that why you’ve never said yes to Armin’s proposal?”   
Even though her expression doesn’t change I can sense the pain she felt from the punch. It’s hard to hurt someone who doesn’t have any feelings, but Armin is Annie’s weak spot and we both know that.   
Without any retort from the blonde I storm out of the Library without my cane. I ignore her hurtful words as much as I can. I somehow feel ashamed for saying what I did too. Not about Annie being in love, but about how love is for the weak. I don’t know how I came up with that. Do I actually feel that way? It makes sense though. That’s why I keep everyone at an arm’s length, and the one time I came painfully close to something like love it shot me in the chest and left me for dead. I’m not falling in love. Neither is Marco. We’re professionals. This is the end of the world, not the season finale on the Bachelor. If it’s ever going to happen it’s going to have to wait, there are more important things at stake. Love is not important, it’s a distraction.   
With my new mindset leaving me a bit nauseous, I limp through the halls going nowhere specific. Until my knight in shining armor stops me with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands and a smile on his face.   
“Oh hey, I thought we were going to be in the Library,” he says pausing when he notices my weird vibe. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost-wait, sorry.”   
“Uh, ye-yeah, I just,” I sigh and take a mug from him, our fingers brush and a weird sense of shame comes over me, “I’m fine.”   
Marco frowns, “I don’t believe that for a sec-”  
“Hey guys!” Eren calls from behind Marco, we turn to look at the fanboy, “Meeting. War room. Now.” He says with the excitement of a thirteen year old girl. Ever since he’s been working with Hanji I think he finally feels like he’s helping, it’s making him weirdly more annoying. His fuzzy head disappears from around the corner and I roll my eyes subconsciously.   
Marco turns back to me with a leveling stare, “We can talk about this later,” he says.   
“Sure, Professor Bodt, I swear I wasn’t high, please don’t fail me,” I whine as we make our way to the Dining Room that Eren has donned the War Room.   
Marco shakes his head, “You can’t use sarcasm has a defensive mechanism for the rest of your life.”   
“Yes I can, remember, it’s the end of the world?” I say.   
Marco’s expression darkens like it does whenever someone mentions the apocalypse, “Stop talking like that.”   
We walk the rest of the way to the Dining Room in silence. I try to act like I don’t notice Marco’s change of mood and pretend it wasn’t me, but stupid guilt finds it’s way to the back of my skull.   
In the Dining Room, once again, a spectacular example of Armin’s wealth and ability to decorate, looks something from a disney princess movie. Everyone is sat at the long wooden table except Annie. We keep accumulating people for the end of the world club, I’m debating on buying t-shirts. So we’ve got Armin at the head of the table looking freshly disturbed and stressed, so nothing new. Levi and a still-miserable looking Mikasa are talking in hushed tones across from Hanji and Eren who are trying to contain their demented excitement and practice their not-so-great inside voices. Olli sits next to Levi trying to listen in on the Ackerman conversation while Amelia and Mina are calmly chatting. Even our newest recruit, the over eyebrowed and over dramatic Dr. Erwin Smith, stands with Armin talking in his low manly-man voice about something in Marco’s mother's book.   
Marco and I take a seat across from his sisters and wait for the leading blondes to start their ‘How the World is Going to Shit Today’ meeting. I stare up at the taller blonde with a little glare. I don’t like Erwin. I think Levi and Armin had talked about bringing him in and eventually gave in. He’s too cold and too okay with the idea of killing someone. He’s too much like Armin for my liking. I can handle Armin, I know his weaknesses and his past and what makes his thinker tick; but this Erwin guy, I don’t know him, I don’t trust him.   
I hear the door open and close as our favorite cold blooded monster slinks in and stands in the corner. I resist to glare at her but just her presence makes me want to punch something. Marco notices my contained fuming and rests his hand over my clenched fist on my thigh. I tense at his touch. The mix of emotions of how I want him to touch me and how I don’t want him to touch me make me want to scream. I look over at Annie who staring back at me knowingly. How dare she determine what’s good for me. She doesn’t know anything about us. She’s wrong. I bite my lip and make the decision for all the wrong reasons to unhinge my fist and lace my fingers into Marco’s. I glare at Annie with pride and defiance, fuck her, who cares what she thinks.  
“Alright,” Armin sighs straightening up and running a hand through his hair, “We actually have not all bad news today.”   
Half the people in the room buzz with the slightest bit of hope that Armin has given them. The other half, not so easily impressed. Marco squeezes my hand which tells me we are on opposite sides of the spectrum.   
“First of all, we believe we’ve found where the breach in the dimension’s is going to be,” Armin clicks a few buttons on his laptop and a map of Charleston is projected onto the dark table. He steps around Levi and Mikasa and points a finger at what looks like a small part of land in the middle of Charleston. “The Circular Congregational church graveyard.”   
Marco squeezes my hand as panic washes over the both of us. The Circular graveyard is right behind the cemetery where I was killed. They are literally separated by a slim metal fence that is no taller than my waist.   
“In Maia Bodt’s journal we’ve seen many mentions of the graveyards around that area and the Circular in particular. Also with Jean and Marco’s encounter last week we’ve noticed the pick up in supernatural activity in that area. And it’s seems only fitting that that the breach between the living and the dead happens in a cemetery.” Armin says without an emotional string to hold him back, this is all strategy to him, nothing more. “Secondly, Levi and Mikasa believe that they have finished collecting the supplies for the ritual to keep the breach closed.”   
Armin pauses to let everyone soak the information in and get all excited again. Except Marco, I’m assuming he’s now in a brain fart about having to go back to the cemetery. I squeeze his hand to remind him that I’m alive and that the promise I told him isn’t going to break. Especially not because of some no good angsty blonde girl who has no idea what she’s talking about.   
“And!” Eren stammers over the whispers, “Hanji found a way-”  
“I’ve been able to extract the rest of the tainted soul from Jean’s heart. Of course it’s not properly functional, but we can take the last bit of his soul and implant it into something of his so he can go back into the supernatural infested parts of town without getting torn to shreds,” Hanji interrupts excitedly. Eren doesn’t even seem to be bothered that she stole his thunder.  
“Fantastic,” Armin smiles, “Now we only have figure out the time when the devil decides to make his reappearance.”   
“And you have a plan for the occasion?” I pipe up over the excited whispers in the room.   
Armin clears his throat and his smile fades. Leave it up to me to ruin the mood. Erwin steps forward with his arms behind his back like some sort of british mysterious villain. “The plan, Jean, is heavily reliant on you, do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” he says without any spark of emotion. God he’s so fucking creepy.   
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I grin with a glare.   
“Good, because you will be making a reacquaintance with your friends of the dead. We need someone on the other side of the breach to keep it contained just as we are on this dimension,” he says.   
Nerves and confusion rise in my throat. “So you’re going to kill me again?” Marco’s hand is clenched onto mine so hard like I might be pulled from him at any second.  
Armin interrupts Erwin before he can speak sensing my rising defiance. “Technically, Jean, we don’t need to. You’re not really alive or dead so you can go between the two dimensions whenever you want, you just need a door.”   
“And how are you going to get me back then? Once the breech is closed don’t you kind of want to keep all doors to that dimension closed? Why bother saving me if I’m already dead?” No I don’t understand everything, but I don’t think they do either. I would’ve sacrificed myself a week ago but now I have something to live for, someone to live for, and I’m not going down without a fight.   
“With Hanji’s way we will be able to get you back in once piece-”  
“How do you know? She’s a crazy necromancer, you’re really going to trust that she’s going to let someone walk through dimension’s willy nilly?”  
“It’s the best shot we have! There’s no way to tell-”   
“Find another way! I’m not going to die again just because you think it might work!”   
Armin exhales calmly and closes his eyes. The room is silent and I don’t know when I stood up but I’m standing with one hand flat on the table and the other clinging to Marco’s in view for the whole room. Everyone knows why I don’t want to die again and I don’t have to say it. I know I was prophesized and I know my chances of survival are paper thin but I don’t want to die. Not now. It’s not fair. I can’t be expected to go quietly.   
“Can we have a moment please?” Armin says with restraint. Everyone is the room is hesitant to leave but eventually they’re all shuffling out the door whispering among themselves. Even Erwin trails behind them in his villainous calm. Marco stands still holding my hand and leans in to kiss the side of my head.   
“Stay,” I demand to him in a low voice, I’m still latched onto his hand and have already promised myself not to let go. He nods and laces his free hand around my arm.   
Armin sighs and walks around to sit on the table in front of us. “The plans aren’t ironed out, we’re still working on things. There’re just so many unknowns and we’re only doing what we think is best.”   
“Not for me,” I say tight lipped, “You’re doing what’s best for you and I’m going to be left for dead.”   
“There are sacrifices we need to make to get through this-”  
“And it’s me!” I cry, “You’re going to look back on this one day and think about poor Jean Kirstein that died a hero for the sake of the fucking planet! But he never got a say in what happened to him because he was lead by a cold blooded killer.”   
Armin stares back at me unfazed. Two weeks ago when this all started I noticed how his eyes changed. Now he wears those worn and worried eyes to something cold and dark. This isn’t the Armin I know, this is an Armin forged into being something he’s not and I don’t think I can stop him.   
“We know why you’re resisting Jean,” he sighs making a quick glance at Marco. My chest rises with the same heat of anger that it did when Annie was talking me down, Marco’s grip tightens on my arm. “We need you to do what’s best for everyone, think about what goes on outside of this house, outside of your room. Think about your parents, Sasha and Connie, your fans. There are so many people in this world that are relying on you to do what is best for them, we’re relying on you to not make a mistake.”   
I go to fire something back at him but a lump catches in my throat. I forgot about Sasha and Connie, their baby. Why is it that I have to be the poor hero?   
I sigh out a breath of defeat. “This isn’t fair, Armin,” I mumble wiping a hand down my face.   
He looks up at me with pity. “I know, it never is,” he sighs standing and shuffling his way out of the dining room. I stand there until I hear the door close leaving Marco and I with the reminder of the weight that’s on our shoulders. Who are we kidding? Why do we bother learning about each other and having movie nights and making hot cocoa together? It’s all for nothing. This is all a waste of time. There’s nothing either one of us can do to avoid the inevitable.   
But I want him.   
“Jean-” I cut Marco off before he speaks any heartbreaking hesitation into the empty room. I turn and kiss him, hard, grabbing him by both sides of his head and pulling him closer and closer. He kisses me back but I can tell he’s caught off guard by my sudden need for him. But I can’t let him speak. I can’t let myself speak. If either one of us mutters a single word in hesitance to what we’re doing, then it’s over. And I can’t have that.   
Marco pulls back enough that I’m forced to unhinge for a second. He holds me by my shoulders and looks at me with some kind of subtle fear and sadness. I already know what he’s going to try to do. He doesn’t want to be a distraction, a burden. He wants us to save the world, no matter the cost. But he doesn’t want me to die either. He’s a smart guy he knows what the stakes are, and from where we’re standing, things don’t look good.   
I hold him close and look back at him with pleading eyes. “Please Marco,” I choke. His expression softens to something of pity, I hate it when people look at me like that but it’s been happening all week. I ignore it. I kiss him again, needy and panicky, not one of our best kisses but it’s all I can do. I need him to know. I need him to believe in us. In what we can accomplish, together.   
I pull back and look at him in his pretty brown eyes. “You have to feel it,” I huff out stupidly. I don’t know what to say to persuade him but I can sense him fading. “You have to feel it, it’s right, this is right,” I say still holding him by his face. “Please Marco you have to know what I’m talking about, it’s not just me, right? This has to be some kind of fate or destiny,” I sputter, “This is how it’s supposed to be, this is how we are supposed to be,” I pause looking at his gaping eyes, “You feel it, right?”   
He stands there in my panicked death grip and wide eyes looking at me plead and beg for him. I don’t think I’ve ever been so pathetic in my entire life but I’m desperate for him to tell me he thinks that we some kind of star crossed lovers and that it doesn’t matter that the world is crumbling around us because we are…  
Marco blinks and straightens out. My hands relax and slide down the sides on his neck to his chest. He rests his hand on my cheek and gives me a small smile, leaning forward and pressing a long kiss on my forehead. I fist my hands in his sweatshirt and close my eyes resting against him. “Please say something,” I whisper.   
“I don’t have to,” he mumbles against my skin. I pull back to look at him. “You already said it all,” he smiles, “the prophecy said the both of us, not just you, it’s us against the world and I’m willing to fight the good fight.”   
A wave of relief comes over me so strong I think I might cry. “Thank god,” I sigh crashing into him again. This time he’s ready for me and kisses me back with as much passion and heart as I give him. His hands run through my hair and down my sides as I pull on his shoulders and sweatshirt to bring us closer, always closer. It’s us against the world. We’re in for quite the fight. But there isn’t only one way to go about things, we’ll figure something out, we will make this work, we will win because I won’t let us lose. This is too much to lose.   
-  
After Marco and I’s treasured make out session of defiance and desperation, I made it my goal to find a better way to save the world. What have I come up with? Nothing. Not a dime, not a penny. Completely useless. So that is the only reason why I’ve ended up in the Study with Hanji and Eren talking strategy over my frozen heart.  
“I don’t get it, why do we have to have people on both sides of the breach, isn’t that kind of redundant?” I say sat next to Eren on the couch across from Hanji who is pacing back and forth. I’ve noticed that she can only manage about an hour or so of sitting down everyday, and that includes sleeping.   
“It is redundant, but I think they’re trying to be safe. Why keep the breach closed only on this side when we already have a dead person to do it on the other side too?” she says using her hands more than her voice.   
I sigh and lean back in the couch that smells a bit like formaldehyde and stare at the ceiling. Why are they doing this? Who’s idea was this in the first place? My gut tells me it was the creepy Erwin plotting against me or something, I don’t trust him. But there has to be another way.   
I look back up at the swimming Hanji and quirk an eyebrow. “How did you know about the apocalypse anyway?” I ask her.   
She looks up at me and smiles, “Summon the right kind of spirits and you can learn just about anything you want to know. I managed to catch to some dead psychics who knew about the end of the world a month ago. I thought they were just schizo’s or something but then they started talking about you, then I knew, and now it’s all they ever talk about; Jean Kirstein and Marco Bodt, the leader and the see-er, bound to either live by casting Satan back to the depths of hell or die by the fiery hand of Beelzebub-”  
“Wait,” I cut in on her theatrics, “They talk about us?”  
She turns and looks almost surprised. “Well of course! Don’t they talk to you?”  
I sigh and look at the frozen jar with my dark heart, I wonder if it looked like that before it was yanked out of me. “The last time I spoke to a spirit he rudely violated me.”   
“Right,” Hanji nods, “All the one’s I summon can’t stop talking about you, they think you’re some kind of…”  
I raise an eyebrow at her, “Some kind of what?”  
“God,” she says in the quietest voice I’ve ever heard her speak, she looks up to me with buzzing thoughts flying behind her eyes, “They think of you as a god, as some kind of leader or king to lead an army into war, to lead them into war.”  
“Okay, but-”  
“It all makes sense now,” she says getting louder and louder with every word, “How the spirits talk, what Maia Bodt has seen, how so many of them latched onto your soul, it all makes sense now!” she yells skipping over to me and kneeling in front of me and grabbing my shoulders, “They’re preparing for war! You’re leading them into war with the devil himself!”   
I sit there in Hanji’s crazy-person death grip and with some of her spit on face not knowing what to say. But the sinking feeling my gut tells me that I know what she’s talking about. Back at the cemetery, Marco’s grandfather, I had a vision; it was me surrounded by a bunch of spirits, and when I pointed they all tore apart everything in their path, including the giant devilish looking monster in front of me. I still haven’t told anyone about the visions, not even Marco, I don’t want to scare him, I don’t want to believe them.   
I level Hanji with an intense stare. “I had a vision,” I say unable to shut myself up.  
Eren pipes up next to me, “You had a vision? When? I thought that was Marco’s thing.”  
“At the cemetery,” I huff, “It’s was like you said, I was leading spirits to fight the darkness, and this giant evil creature.”   
“Lucifer himself!” Hanji squeals. Fuck. This can’t be real. I wanted to forget that. That wasn’t me I saw in the vision, that was a me that was possessed or something, overcome with souls.   
I look from Eren to Hanji and to my heart and I think I might puke. Hanji bounces up and starts babbling about all her theories and what she’s been working on to win the battle. Eren tries to ask if I’m okay but I stand up in a fuzzy haze of desperation. “Don’t tell Marco,” I sputter out.   
“Don’t tell Marco?” Hanji stops, “We have to tell everyone, their plan to save the world is going to get us killed, if we have any sort of chance it’s preparing for the prophesied battle. You should’ve said something earlier.” She jumps out of the room without another word and I think I’m going to pass out. This cannot be happening. There’s is no way I am leading an army of ghosts into battle against the devil and his demons.   
I already hear Hanji yelling down the hallway, I stumble after her, my limp getting worse with my haziness. Eren comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder as I lean against the doorframe trying not to puke watching Hanji run down the hall.  
“Get Marco,” I huff out and the little mouse nods and runs the opposite way of Hanji to get my hopefully forgiving boyfriend. I slide down the doorframe to the ground and rest my head in my hands trying to focus on calming breaths. This can’t be happening. I’m not some war hero ready to lead the dead into battle. I have no idea what I’m doing. Before this, I barely left my apartment, the only people I talked two was my roommate and my two lifelong friends. I can’t just prance out their with my ragtag team of ghosts and beat the living daylights out of a god and then go back to living my pathetic life. That’s just not how it works.  
We’re doomed.   
I rather die.   
“Jean?” I hear the beautiful Marco Bodt voice ring as he kneels down and puts a hand to my back. I look back up at him in a blurry haze reaching out messily for his other hand.   
“My vision Marco, back at the cemetery, it was me-it was me leading ghosts into battle with Satan, Armin is wrong, the breach is going to open no matter what, we have to go to war, we have to win a fucking war,” I sputter to him hoping he understands my sloppy sobs.   
“Jean, what’s going on? Why is Hanji screaming?” he says confused by everyone’s dramatics.   
“They’re wrong Marco, they-” before I can say another word Levi has his hand fisted in the front of my shirt and is growling in my face.  
“You had a vision and you didn’t tell anyone,” he seethes. The fear I feel is unbelievably real, Levi doesn’t care that I’m a half witted panicking mess right now, I don’t think he cares about anything, except for living to see next year, that is. I gape up at him, his dark piercing eyes only making me panic more. He shakes me a bit and I whimper. “You pathetic piece of shit, you’re going to get us killed, what else do you know?,” he growls.   
“That’s enough,” that booming villainous voice calls from above us. I notice Levi’s expression calm and his grip loosens on my shirt. He complies with Erwin’s order and slowly stands looking down at me like nothing more than a pile of dirt. If I wasn’t so panicked right now I’d think twice about how Levi took orders from Erwin without questions asked.   
I shrivel under their looming stances. Levi, Erwin, Armin, Mikasa, and even Eren surround me looking at me like plate of moldy food. I didn’t know it was that important. I was trying to forget it. I didn’t want it to be real. I didn’t want think about it. I feel like a toddler being scolded by five disappointed parents.   
“You lied to us,” Armin says sounding more surprised than anything.   
“I...I didn’t, I just...didn’t want to say anything,” I choke from my huddled form on the ground.   
“Same thing,” Erwin says his face unchanged from his constant determined look. I gape unable to come up with anything. “You need to tell us everything you know,” he says raising a thick eyebrow, “Now.”  
“I don’t-”   
“There’s nothing else to tell!” Hanji hollers from the back, “We have everything we need to know now to get ready, so lets go!”  
I appreciate her efforts to take some of the heat off me but my disdainful crowd still glares down at me in all of my pathetic glory.   
“We can’t trust him anyways, we’ll find another way without him,” Levi grumbles turning and walking down the hall away from his brooding group. Mikasa trails behind him without a trace of emotion in her tired eyes.   
“What’s going on?” Marco mumbles beside me. His hand finds mine and I’m stronger all the more for it. Armin sighs and kneels down meet my line of sight.   
“Jean’s been keeping information from us,” he says with hurt eyes, “we could’ve been killed if Hanji never figured it out.”  
Marco leans forward subconsciously trying to nudge himself between Armin and I. He’s trying to protect me. “Alright well let's just calm down and give him a break,” he says squeezing my hand, “he’s kind of had a rough past week.”  
“We can’t let a rough week determine the fate of humanity,” Erwin says down to Marco. I notice a vein pop in the side of Marco’s neck, I think he’s actually mad, it’s kind of hot.   
“And you can’t rely on one person to determine the fate of humanity,” Marco bites back, “prophesied or not he’s still human.”   
“Barely,” Eren snorts to the side. Everyone chooses to ignore him.   
“Come to us when you’re ready to talk about the rest you know on the end of the world,” Erwin says. Armin stands and turns away looking hurt for some reason. “In the meantime, watch the clock count down the last minutes of this planet’s life.” With that pleasing note, Erwin and Armin leave back the way Levi went. Hanji and Eren linger looking down at their play thing and eventually shuffle away, leaving Marco and I alone.   
I wait for Marco to turn to face me, I don’t think I can look at him in the eyes. I feel my unknowingly held breath release and I start to wheeze. What have I done? I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. It was a freak vision that a ghost gave me, how can we trust that? I didn’t know it was going to connect everything to what Hanji was thinking.   
Marco turns slowly looking down at our hands, I thank him internally for it. “You okay?” he mumbles.  
I want to come up with something sarcastic or mildly offensive to try and joke that I’m fine, but I can’t think of anything. All I can see is me sunken and pale, surrounded by hundreds of spirits, my eyes black and my teeth sharp leading an army of the dead to eat the devil alive.   
No, I don’t think I’m okay.  
I slowly shake my head unable to break my petrified stare on a specific spot on the rug. Marco leans in and presses a kiss on my forehead. I close my eyes and lean into him, relying on his words and his touch to keep me from going over the edge. He leans back and looks down at me.  
“Can I try something?” he asks in a hushed whisper. I don’t move so he continues, “It’s something my mother did whenever I had a real nasty vision that I couldn’t explain. She’d somehow dig through my memories and find it so she could see it and I wouldn’t have to explain it,” he sighs, “I don’t know, I guess it made me feel better.”   
The thought of someone rummaging through my memories is never very appetizing, but usually I’m dealing with our golden Annie. In this case, it’s my gentle caring Marco. I trust him with my life, with the lives of everyone on this entire planet. For all I care he can tear my memories to shreds and I’d still be holding his hand.   
I nod and he gives another quick kiss on my forehead. He moves to sit next to me gently resting his fingertips on the sides of my head and leaning forward so our foreheads are touching. He feels safe and warm and more comforting than anything Annie could manage. I’m not nervous, I don’t have anything to hide from Marco, I’ll let him know every darkest bone in my body.   
“I know it may not be fun, but try and think about what you saw, it’ll be easier for me to find it,” he says in the small space between us. I give another soft nod and I feel him take a deep breath.   
I do as he asks.   
I think about it.   
The war, the monsters, the ghosts, me. It all scares the living daylights out of me. It’s like laying there in the middle of the night replaying that one horror movie that really scared you and thinking that the very same demon is lurking in your bedroom ready to grab you by your ankles and drag you to the fiery pits of hell. The sky was dark and swirling with unnatural greens and grays, it clouded all light from the sun. The only source of light was from the giant hole in the cemetery, a glowing orange and red where the black sticky shadows claw out slithering over gravestones hungry and vicious. The giant naked creature. Fiery green eyes, flashing teeth, black claws. The devil. I don’t know how I can stand in front of the thing and grin. My face unlike my own, it’s something demented and fucking terrifying. I have sharp teeth and ink black eyes. My skin so pale a hollow like the day I rose from the dead. The jittering spirits around me rush to the slimey demons as I raise an arm and point to the field. They destroy everything. The headstones, the trees, the demons, the grass, everything burns with each move they make tearing the historical site to dust.  
I hear Marco make a small noise and I use it to keep from going too far into the vision. I don’t want to get lost. Not like last time. I’m showing this to him, maybe he can make more use of it that I can.   
I feel Marco’s warmth jerk away from me and I open my eyes to see if he’s alright. His pretty brown eyes staring back at me like he does whenever he has a vision; scared, confused. Except this time, there’s pity, sadness. I look at him bashful and waiting for him to yell at me for some reason.  
“Is that what you saw?” he asks shakily. I assume by the way he’s looking at me that he saw what I saw.   
“Are you mad?” I ask. He shakes his head quickly.  
“No nono, I…” he bites his lip, “I’ve seen it too.”   
What.  
All fear I’ve been feeling falls into a pit of confusion.   
Marco must notice my face as he continues to explain. “I know I know, I just,” he looks over his shoulder to see if any of our fans are lingering in the hall, “there’s so many possibilities and situations that I’ve seen that there’s no way to tell which one is actually going to happen. I write them all down like my mother, I was waiting to say something when I started to see a pattern,” he whispers hurriedly.  
“And?” I choke.  
“Nothing...until now,” he says the fear still known in his eyes. “Let me show you.”   
-  
Marco takes me outside to the side gardens hidden under an arc of wilting ivy. It’s a bitter cold like it’s been all week, I still can’t believe the snow literally happened overnight when I died. We’re stuffed in our usual snowball fight gear, although this time we aren’t anticipating a good time.   
After I agreed to Marco telling me about all his visions that he hasn't spoken word about this entire time, we ran upstairs and he said he wanted to go somewhere private. He doesn’t trust everyone in the house (rightfully so) and especially after what they did to me when I didn’t tell them about my vision. Outside seemed like the best idea then, but now as we’re sitting on this concrete bench freezing our balls off I’m having second thoughts.   
Marco has a thick journal filled with random post-it notes and bookmarks sitting on his lap in front of us, we both stare down at it waiting for it it to explode. I’d hope that I’d be more patient with him revealing his big secret and all, but I’m fucking cold. The more the temperature is below freezing, the more I hate it.   
“You good?” I ask him more out of shaking anticipation than concern.   
He takes a deep breath and nods flipping open the worn black cover to the first page. Scribblings cover the lined paper, different colored pens cover the page scratching over each other in hasty handwriting. He fingers through the pages, some of them have post-it’s with questions on them, some have stapled photos of cemeteries, other’s have crudely drawn pictures of monsters and ghosts. I notice how Marco’s fingers tremble as he carefully flips each page, it could be from the cold, but I doubt it. I wrap my arm around his lower back and rest my chin on his shoulder, hoping I’m comforting him a little as he is reminded of all the horrors he’s seen.   
“There’re some pages missing from my mother's journal,” he starts, “I took the entries that had things that I’ve seen, I was hoping they wouldn’t notice.”   
“And what’s your plan when they do?” I hum looking up at him.  
“Plead ignorance?” he shrugs with a guilty smile.   
“Right.”   
“Anyway,” he says flipping a few more pages, “You saw the titan in the cemetery,” he turns to a page that has a notebook page stapled to it with a bunch of highlighted and circled words, he points at the notebook page, “Well, so have I and my mom...multiple times.” I read some of the lines that stand out to me as he continues to explain, “ The thing about visions is that you’re always shown what is the truest outcome for however the world is at that time. So like when you, uh, got hurt, I had visions about death and destruction. In plain, at that time, the most possible outcome was that the world was going to end because it lost you.”  
I try not to feel incredibly guilty for what happened last week, for Marco having terrible visions, for the world nearing giving up because I slightly died. Jesus.   
“But, when you woke up, my visions went back to the cemetery and the titan stuff,” he says, “balance was restored.”   
“So do you know what’s going to happen?” I ask fidgeting beside him.   
He sighs and flips a few more pages, “I can never really know, but I think I have an idea.”   
“Then why wait until now to say something?” I ask looking down at a picture of the Circular Congregational Church’s cemetery.   
“Well, there were so many plausible theories, but when I found out that you had a vision about it too, I assumed this one was probably the best,” he shrugs biting his lip.   
I take a breath and sit up, the weight of the world on my shoulders making my back sore. “Okay so the end of the world is going to take place in the Circles cemetery and a huge fuckin’ monster, that’s probably the devil, is going to herd up an army of demons that me and my own rag tag team of spirits are going to have to battle to the death to ensure the safety of the planet and everyone on it, correct?”   
Marco nods with tired eyes, “There are some other minor details that I have, but essentially...yeah.”   
“Great,” I mutter leaning to rest my elbows on my knees and rub my eyes. “Should we go and tell the troops?”   
Marco fidgets next to me, I turn and raise an eyebrow at him, he looks back at me oddly guilty. “I don’t think so.”   
“What?”   
He sighs and runs a reddened hand down his pale freckled face, “I don’t think everyone is who they say they are.”   
I sit up and deepen my confused face, “Come again?”  
“I just...I don’t think we should trust everyone in that house,” he says worrying at his bottom lip.   
Something protective rises in my chest. I think I’m minorly offended for Marco not trusting my friends. Granted, I don’t trust everyone in the house either, but still. I hold back on giving him a piece of my mind because I’m kind of partial to him and choose to let him explain instead.  
“What are you trying to say Marco?”  
He makes a worried look through the trees to the house and back to me. “There’s someone that’s lying to us, I’ve have visions about it,” he says in a hushed voice, “I don’t think we can tell them until we know who it is.”  
“So we have a Judas on our hands,” I say, “and you don’t know who it is.”   
He looks at me with his pitiful puppy dog eyes and I’m weak. This is wrong. This is the end of the world, we should all be working together. What could someone in there possibly do to try and not save the world? I don’t really know if I buy it. But here’s Marco, who I fully trust, telling me in pleading honesty that he thinks someone is going to betray us.   
“Can we at least tell Armin? I know he wouldn’t lie to me,” I ask still uncomfortable with having to keep this information between us.   
“I know, I don’t think it’s Armin either, but if we tell him he’ll tell everyone else, I just really don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says. I blow out a frustrated breath of air. Marco grabs my hand and squeezes, “I know, I’m sorry. But at least they figured out some stuff from you today that should keep them busy for the time being. And once we figure out who it is, then we can tell them, okay?”   
I look him through a pouty glare and relent, “Be glad you’re fucking cute.”   
He smiles and that cold place in my chest warms a bit. Annie’s words from earlier echo through my head and I swat them away. Being with Marco is good - it’s great. We’re a team, a great one. And we need eachother to survive this, we need to be together to survive this.   
He leans in and warms my lips with a sweet kiss, “Thank you,” he whispers. I get fucking chills and I’m slightly angry for how weak I am at Marco’s touch. Whatever. I’ve been planning some stuff for us for a few nights now.  
“You owe me,” I say with a bit of a smirk.   
He kisses me again as he smiles, “Deal.”  
Man, this kid.   
-  
Marco decided to talk out the rest of the details tonight when everyone’s asleep. I agreed to do whatever he wanted as long as it was inside.   
For the time being, we’ve secluded ourselves to our bedroom with occasional trips to the kitchen. We wanted to stay away from everyone as much as possible, and I know they’re waiting for me to spill the rest of what I saw in my vision which I obviously can’t do right now. But now I have this weird feeling that everyone is watching me. The idea Marco put in my head is making suspicious of everyone. I don’t like it. The sooner we find our Judas, the better.   
I still think it’s Erwin. I don’t trust him. He pretty much came from nowhere and just started ordering people around. Yeah, I don’t think so. Marco won’t tell me who he thinks it is, I don’t know if he’s just trying to be nice or if he’s trying to mind my feelings but I still want to know.   
We ate dinner with Amelia and Olli. It’s nice to hear the three of them talk and banter about funny things from the past or tell embarrassing stories about each other. It makes me nostalgic for never having siblings. I always wanted someone to talk to that wasn’t my parents or my therapist. Sasha was the closest I had to one, but I don’t think it really counts. It’s also nice to see Marco happy with them. Amelia and him haven’t fought since they came to stay here. Olli (which I learned was a nickname for Olive) has been learning from Mikasa and Levi. Plus, Marco can rest easy knowing they’re safe. Amelia doesn’t hate me anymore, especially after seeing me with Marco. So it’s nice for us to all sit on the floor and sit on the floor laughing about stories to try and forget about the circumstances of why we’re all together.   
Once Amelia and Olli left to go to their room for the night, Marco and I may have had an impromptu makeout session that ended in Marco pulling away saying how we had work to do. Curse him. I know he knows that it’s probably the last thing I want to do tonight. Technically the only thing I want to do is him.   
Marco goes and gets some hot chocolate for us as I change into some sweats and start flipping through his notebook that he invited me to. After about five minutes of the alone time, there’s a soft knock at the door. I hastily stash the book away and stumble to the door, knowing that if it was Marco he wouldn’t have knocked.   
I open the door just a crack and notice a tired Mikasa standing on the other side. She says nothing, so I open the door further.   
“You’re alive,” I grunt sarcastically at her. She’s wearing one of Eren’s t-shirts and a pair of giant sweatpants.   
“So are you,” she deadpans back. I awkwardly nod and shift from foot to foot.   
I let enough brutal silence pass until I’m dying for a spoken word. “What do you want Mikasa?”   
“I need to talk to you,” she says.   
I raise an eyebrow and look at the hallway around her, wondering if Eren’s gonna pop out or something. “Okay...about what? I’m kinda busy.”  
“It’s about Marco,” she says. My stomach drops for some reason. I’ve been told not to trust anyone and if Mikasa knows something about Marco then I’m going to be pissed if she’s our Judas.   
Suddenly I don’t care about anything else, “What about Marco?”   
“He’s dangerous, you’re making a mistake,” she says devoid of emotion. In one swift movement I grab her arm, pull her into my room, and close the door.   
“And why in the fucking world would you all of the sudden care?” I growl, my protective instincts fueling my rage.   
She looks up at me unbothered, “He makes you weak, you don’t think right around him. You’re supposed to save the world and he’s a distraction.”  
Without thinking I grab her throat and pin her against the wall, I don’t squeeze, I just want to scare her. Although trying to scare Mikasa is like trying to scare the Grim Reaper. “Fuck you, I’m fucking tired of this. You know nothing, Annie knows nothing, you all know nothing, you’re just jealous because I love Marco more than I ever loved you.”   
Whoa.   
Did I just…  
Mikasa’s eyes widen, the reaction being drawn by my words and not the fact that my fist is around her throat. “You love him?” she asks in a hushed whisper.   
My throat clutches and I think through panicked emotions why I would say something like that. But it’s simple, isn’t it?  
“I do,” I whisper, trying to act confident and not like I completely psyched myself out. I softly release my hand from her throat and straighten my shoulders. “I do love him, so just go,” I say finding some superhuman level of calmness, “There’s nothing you can say to change it, just go.”  
Mikasa’s eyes change from surprised to flat out scared. I doubt it’s because she’s hurt, Mikasa is not one to get her feelings hurt. I feel oddly worried for her.   
“Mikasa?” I croak awkwardly.   
She steps forward and grabs my arm. “It’s Annie, she asked me to come and distract you, I think she’s after Marco,” her voice is quick and nervous. Nervous and Mikasa? Not a combination you see everyday. Any question if she’s lying or not goes out the window.   
“What-what about Marco?” I ask panic rising to my chest.   
“I don’t know, she says she’s taking care of something for Armin, she was dressed like she was going outside, I heard them talking earlier about how they’re worried that Marco is distracting you,” she says clearly, “You need to find him, I don’t think he’s safe.”   
Without another thought I’m running out of the room and down the hall.   
Annie.   
Oh god, it’s Annie. Judas.  
But Armin?  
Annie’s words run through my head as I run down the stairs. She’s trying to separate us. Armin is on her side. They think we’re being distracted. Would she go as far to hurt Marco to get him away from me?   
No.   
Please.   
Denial fuels my racing thoughts. This can’t be right. Annie wouldn’t hurt innocent Marco. He’s fine. He’s in the kitchen right now making us hot chocolate and humming stupid Hall and Oates songs to himself. He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s-  
Gone.   
No one’s in the kitchen.   
Two ceramic mugs sit on the counter without a single drop of cocoa. The faucet is still running into an overflowing pot.  
No no no no no.  
I race to the library, although there’s no reason for him to be there, I search frantically to his favorite seat under a paned window. Nothing.   
No no no no NO.  
I run back down the hall to the Study. I bust open the door to find Hanji talking to herself as she works over a microscope, she’s completely oblivious to my entrance.   
“Hanji!” I yell at her. She yelps and almost knocks over a beaker that she recovers glaring up at me, “Where’s Marco?”  
“I don’t know I thought you guys were in the kitchen,” she shakes.   
“Why did you think that?” I ask hastily.   
“You guys were making a bunch of noise, I thought you two were-”  
No no no no no.   
I run back out into the hall as my heaving breath makes me dizzy. Where is he? Where is Annie? Why is this happening? It was only five minutes.  
“Jean,” Mikasa’s in front of me pulling me towards the front door, “She’s was dressed to go outside.”  
I nod and go to the door opening it to the freezing night. I step out onto the frozen concrete landing and search into the darkness for any sort of movement. It’s too dark, I can’t see. I go to scream his name but then I see fresh footprints in the snow. One pair a straight line of boots, the other, bare feet.   
“She has him,” I huff out. If I had a heart it’s be racing, my breathing is in heaves and my body is shaking with adrenaline. “I have to go, he’ll freeze.” Just as I’m about to stumble barefoot into the snow Mikasa grabs my arm and yanks me back inside.  
“Don’t be stupid,” she hisses.  
“Don’t try and fucking stop me,” I growl back pulling away from her.   
“I’m not,” she says turning and running up the stairs. Confused, I make the preferred decision to put on pair of boots before I go sloshing through the snow with no idea what I’m doing and a frozen pair of feet. Mikasa runs back down the stairs with Amelia behind her and a coat in her arms. “Here,” she says shoving the jacket at me, “and she should help you find him.”  
“What’s going on? Where’s Marco?” Amelia asks turning to me with glowing eyes.   
“Can you track him?” I ask shrugging on the heavily padded coat.  
“Yes,” she spits both of us already moving out the door and into the snow. “Why?”  
I point down at the pair of foot prints, “We think Annie has him, something’s wrong.”  
“What do you-”  
Before Amelia can finish her thought a howling pained scream echoes through the air. My stomach sinks. It’s unmistakeable.   
Marco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry


	8. Scream and Whisper

I can’t breathe. 

Marco’s screams echo through the frozen air as Amelia and I book it towards the horrifying sounds. 

No no no no.

Annie is hurting my Marco. 

My sweet gentle boyfriend who is trying to protect all of humanity is being hurt by a betraying lying bitch. 

I’ll kill her.

Amelia still hasn’t Turned, I think she’s trying to keep pace with me. As I struggle to sprint through the snow I turn to her and speak through wheezing breaths, “Go find him, kill her if you need to.” 

She looks back at me and her hesitance fades when she sees how serious I am. She nods once as her eyes glow and her body starts to change. As she runs she bites against the pain of her bones rearranging. I want to be excited about seeing a werewolf change in front of my eyes but I can’t stop thinking about Marco being hurt. Amelia jerks forward and starts running on all fours, fur covers her body and she grows to a wolf as tall as my waist. She’s fucking huge and terrifying. She still runs in pace with me as the last of her changes lengthen her tail and nose. 

“Go Amelia!” I yell and she shoots into the dark without hesitation. I watch her as a black streak through the snow and towards the gates. The only thing I have to follow are her giant paw prints in the snow and the other footprints left by Annie and Marco. 

My chest burns as I wheeze in frozen breaths of air. I’m sweating despite how cold I am, I don’t even register it, I think it’s the adrenaline. I try not to panic. I can feel my breathing teeter on the edge of hyperventilating. 

Don’t panic, this is not the time to fucking panic.

The closer I get to the edge of the gates, I have weird flashbacks to the memories in the cemetery. My chest clutches in the infamous way when spirits are around. I know if I go outside these gates without my heart they’ll swallow me whole. I really hope he’s close. 

Marco’s screaming stops. 

No no no no. 

It somehow makes me feel worse.

The sounds end in a cut off choking way.

I’m going to be sick.

I wait for some kind of howl from Amelia telling me that she found him and that he’s okay, I just hope she can get to Annie. I wonder if she can even fight her. A werewolf versus Annie? I’m thinking it’s probably an even fight. Marco against Annie? I don’t want to think about it... 

There it is. Amelia’s howling echoes into the sky. I turn and somehow scrounge up the energy to run faster through the snow.   
He’s okay he’s okay he’s okay. 

I think about what I told Mikasa. I love him. I fucking love him. This isn’t fair. I love him and his hopeful optimism and his caring gentleness and his efforts to be a light in everyone’s life even when he’s dying inside. I love him. No one can take him away from me. 

In the quiet night I can hear someone crying. I run around some trees in the side gardens and find Amelia kneeling over a shaking Marco on the ground. I skid to a stop and almost fall on top of them. I drop to the ground beside Marco and I’m finally able to see him. 

He’s shaking like he’s having a seizure. His eyes are rolled in the back of his head in a milky white color. Gashes along the right side of his face ooze fresh blood that shines in the moonlight. He’s having a vision, and bad one. Like the one he had after his mom died. 

He’s beaten and broken and lying in the cold snow left for dead.

Amelia doesn’t know what to do as she shakes and cries next to her younger brother. I only notice now that she’s naked, she probably ripped off her clothes when she Turned. I quickly shrug off my jacket and half throw it at her as I’m already moving to grab Marco by his shoulders and take some of the heat of the vision.

My hands grip at his trembling shoulders forgetting that I really hate doing this, because now I’ll do anything to protect him. I’d die to save him. My trembling hands hold tight around his trembling body...nothing’s happening. No cold burning, no voices, no rushing anxiety, nothing. He’s still shaking and now his mouth is gurgling up foam. I start to panic. My breath picks up and I start to completely lose my cool, tears fall from my eyes and blur my vision. I try to grab at Marco searching for a place where I can help him. There’s nothing I can do. If I can’t help him with his vision, that what can I do? This vision is going to kill him just like his mother. And I can’t save him just like I could save her. 

He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying. 

“Marco,” I wheeze through my trembling lips. “Please,” I choke. Nothing. He’s shaking and trembling and not breathing and cold and turning blue. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying. 

As I’m searching frantically for someway to help him, I squeeze at his right arm that squishes under my grasp. His arm is growing purple and is fucking squishy. Annie beat him broken. I notice more bruising around his neck and I wonder if she did anything else to him. “Marco!” I sob.

He’s making choking noises that definitely do not sound good. I’m crying and hyperventilating and I’m definitely losing it. I can’t do anything. He’s going to die. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying. The man that I’m in love with is going to die and there is nothing that I can do about it. 

“We have to go,” Amelia hiccups beside me as she starts to pull at Marco’s shoulder, “We have to get him back.” 

Right. Back. I’m not thinking clearly. 

I nod as I pull Marco’s vibrating body up and struggle to stand with him in my arms. He’s unbelievably heavy given that it’s hard to hold onto him when he’s shaking and unconscious, but I summon some massive strength from nowhere to start stumbling out of the garden. Amelia runs ahead of me and chokes that she’ll bring someone back. She doesn’t Turn this time, only running bare through the snow with nothing but my coat and the mindset to save her brother.   
My feet drag through the muddy snow, the freezing air numbs my face, the dark night blurs my vision. Marco is trembling and choking and bleeding in my arms. He’s dying, he’s dying in my arms. 

I’m blinded by the thoughts of things I wanted to do and say with Marco. I wanted to take him to my apartment, show him my stories and drawings, introduce him to my parents. I wanted to tell him how strong I think he is, how his courage is inspiring, how he makes me want to be a better person. I wanted to tell him...I wanted to tell him that I love him. 

I don’t feel the cold anymore. I don’t feel anything besides the crippling fear that I’m going to lose Marco - that this world is going to lose Marco. My feet drag through the snow and my breath is thick and ragged, I keep my eyes on the house and hope someone is coming back to help me. I need to get him to Mikasa.   
Marco feels heavier and heavier in my hold, my arms start to tremble along with his body. I’ve realized that I don’t want him to stop shaking anymore, because if he’s shaking - he’s alive. I fear the impending moment when he goes still. 

“Jean!” I hear Eren cry from the darkness. He’s closer than I thought, thank god.

I go to call back for him, but I can’t manage a strong enough breath to, I just hope the sound of my wheezing is loud enough for him to hear. Now that Eren’s close enough, my arms completely give out. I don’t mean to, but my whole body just collapses. I let out a strangled cry and Marco and I stumble into the frozen ground.   
I’m struggling to try and pick him back up but I can barely stand. I’m just wheezing over him and only managing to keep his head out of the snow. 

“Jean,” Eren huffs out finally visible in the darkness. He kneels beside Marco and curses under his breath already taking one of Marco’s arms and draping it around his shoulders. I follow suit and we shakily manage to stand carrying Marco between the two of us. 

I let Eren lead and we’re stumbling through the snow towards the house. The closer we get, I see that we’ve collected quite the group of curious bystanders. Amelia and Mikasa are standing on the front porch, I think Olli is there too. A few heads poke up behind them but I can’t tell who it is because my vision’s blurry and it’s still farther away than I’d like. 

We’re only a few feet from the parking lot when Marco gasps like he’s been holding his breath for years. I feel his hand fist in my shirt tightly as he starts to groan and whine against the pain. My stomach flutters with hope and a sense of relief to hear that Marco is still conscious, but the moment passes when he goes limp letting out a sigh and dropping heavier onto Eren and I’s shoulders. 

No no no no no. 

Please don’t be too late. 

“Mikasa!” Eren yells as we make our way across the parking lot. I hear people yelling, and Mikasa and Levi come into view. Even as we walk they’re already poking and prodding Marco, checking his eyes and his face as they gracefully walk backwards. The Ackerman’s are no people to mess with. 

We get Marco up the stairs and into the house. My whole body is burning, the light inside the house stings my eyes. I can’t manage any words through my heaving to try and tell Mikasa how we found him. But Eren tells them how Marco gasped then went limp. Levi and Mikasa wiggle in front of Eren and I, taking hold of Marco, and books it to the Study. Not only is Mikasa stronger than I am, but Levi is a tank for how small he is. I struggle to keep up with them as they turn into the Study and lay Marco down on a couch that Hanji was feveriously cleaning off. 

I don’t see anything besides Marco. He lays there limp on the couch, his eyes closed, his skin pale and burned red, blood smeared across his face and down his clothes, his right arm twisted and mangled hanging loosely off the edge. But his chest is rising and lowering softly as he breaths, he’s breathing, he’s alive. 

He’s alive.

He’s here with the most powerful healers on the planet.

He’s going to be okay.

He’s going to be okay.

A weight is lifted off my shoulders and I’m finally able to breathe a breath of calm air. I decide not to get in the way of Mikasa and Levi. They brought me back to life, I know they can help Marco too. I seep to the ground unable to hold myself up anymore. My body is still burning, but I don’t care. Marco is going to be safe.

People are running around calling orders and fetching supplies. Olli comes up to me with tears wiped across her face and her hair messy. I want to hug her or tell her that Marco’s going to be fine, but she’s not kneeling in front of me looking for comfort, she’s pulling out creams and wiping stuff across my skin. 

“What?” I breathe out at her, noticing that her mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear her words. 

“Can you hear me?” she asks a little more worried than before. I nod and she shines a tiny flashlight in my eye that I flinch at. I lean against the wall and watch her as she takes my boots off dumping out water and snow onto the carpet beneath us. She looks down at my toes that I can’t seem to move and bites her lip. Her eyes flick back up to me and she shifts, “I’ll be back,” she says running out of the room in her pajamas. 

I lazily rest my head back on the wall and let the heating inside the house try to warm up my aching body. I watch Mikasa and Levi work on Marco. They’ve taken his shirt off and I can see his pale skin is blotched with sickly purples and blues. My stomach twists and I force myself to look away. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. 

I think back to how Amelia and I found him. Annie was gone. I doubt Amelia had scared her off because I know that Amelia would’ve gone after her. What did she do to him that left him trembling with milky white eyes and a broken body? Why would she do this to Marco? Does anyone else know anything about it? Anger and confusion weave their ways into my frustrating rhetorical questions. 

This isn’t right. 

Marco is lying beaten and broken on this grimey couch as a healer and a witch have to feverishly try to heal him before the damage gets too bad. All he wanted to do was help. He’s been keeping secrets - sure - but only because he thought something like this would happen. And only a few hours after he told one person, he’s now unconscious and frozen; and the person responsible for this is gone with the wind, free from all reprimanding and explaining. 

This isn’t right. 

I search the room for him. The blonde boyfriend that is pretending to protect us and giving us, and the rest of the world, false hope for a future. He has to have known something about this. He knows everything. I refuse to believe that he just as blindsided as the rest of us. 

Amongst the frantic people running back and forth to get blankets and towels and supplies for Marco. There he is. Standing in the corner by the window whispering with Erwin as they emotionlessly watch poor Marco struggle for his life. 

What motivates me to shakily stand on my frozen feet and drag my corpse of a body across the room, I don’t know, but it rushes through my veins and builds a fiery heat in my gut and tenses my muscles. 

This is it. 

I grab him by his throat and pin him against the wall. He lets out a yelp and claws at my arm. I growl at him through gritted teeth and level him with the fury in my eyes. 

“You let this happen,” I hiss at him, “You let her do this, you were going to let her kill him.” He stares at me with fearing bright blue eyes, he struggles against my weak grip around his throat. I wish I could squeeze tighter but my limbs are half frozen and I’m surprised I can even stand right now. 

“Jean,” he chokes. I notice his eyes shift to over my shoulder and he shakes his head a bit. I ignore it. “Jean I didn’t know.” 

“Liar!” I yell at him, “How could you let his happen? Are you that desperate for information that you’d kill Marco for it? That you’d let your psycho girlfriend do it for you? That you’d betray your friends and the people you love for it?”

“Jean I-”

“I should kill you right now,” I spit into his face, “You’re a liar and a cold blooded killer, I’d be doing a favor taking your pathetic ass from this world.” 

Tears line his eyes. I feel nothing for him. He’s dead to me. 

“When Marco’s strong enough, we’re leaving. I’m taking him somewhere far where he’s safe from you,” I peel my fist from his throat and he gasps in a choke of air. I watch him double over wheezing in sobbing breaths. I look at him like he’s the most disgusting vermin to have misfortuned the world with his tained presence. 

“Good luck surviving the end of the world without us,” I say turning and limping my way away from him. I don’t know where to go, I just need to be away from him. 

As I pass Erwin, he clamps his giant paw of a hand on my shoulder and leans toward me. “You don’t want to do this,” he whispers in his deep voice. 

I roughly shrug off his hand and glare back at him. “Fuck off, Eyebrows.” I continue to walk away but someone pulls at my shirt again. 

“Jean, please, I didn’t know she’d do something like this. She didn’t tell me anything, I’m just as-”

My fist thwacks Armin in the jaw as he’s continuing to sputter pathetic excuses and he’s thrown to the ground. The room goes quiet besides Armin's whimpers and Mikasa’s foreign whisperings. 

“Don’t you fucking lie to me Armin!” I shout at him, he looks up at me in the pathetic puddle of a man he has become. “You hurt someone I love and I’m never forgiving you for it. You’ve ruined everything, you’re a coward and a snake,” he flinches at my words, “You’re disgusting.” 

I turn again feeling all eyes on me. My body burns and the hole in my chest aches. Armin was my friend. I trusted him, I believed in him, I was willing to put all of my faith into him. But he’s cracked under the pressure. He’s a chunk of carbon that’s failed to become a diamond under the weight of the world, he’s disintegrated. He’s weak and scared. Now that he has a problem he doesn’t have the answer to, he cheats and lies to get through it. There’s no honor or dignity left in him, that man has been burned by the heat, that man died two weeks ago. 

Amelia catches my line of sight on my way out, through some quick decision I take her hand and pull her out of the room with me. She lets me, falling into my limping pace and following me to wherever I go. 

We end up going up to Marco and I’s bedroom. It’s the only place where I think I might be able to catch a breath. I want to be with Marco, but I don’t want to be in Mikasa and Levi’s way. And I especially don’t want to be around Armin. 

I collapse onto the bed and let Marco’s scent fill my senses. It makes me want to cry. My body hurts, the frostbite burns my face, arms, and feet. My voice his hoarse and strangled. My head is thumping with loathing and angered thoughts. The hole in my chest is wheezing with the loss of Armin’s friendship and the painful fear for Marco’s life. 

I decide that I deserve a good cry, and let it out. 

With my face buried in the sheets on Marco’s side of the bed, I sob choking cries into the fabric. This isn’t fair. Marco, Armin, Annie, the end of the fucking world. What have I done to deserve this? What has Marco done to deserve this? The past two weeks have felt like hell on earth already, I didn’t know it could get much worse than dying and being brought back to life. 

I feel the bed slope and realize that Amelia is sat next to me rubbing reassuring circles on my shoulder blade. I sit up and pathetically look to her for some sort of emotional stability. She looks at me with the Bodt famous brown eyes. Marco’s brown eyes, eyes that I’ve fallen in love with. They look different on Amelia though, her eyes look somehow younger, there’s a fire behind them that Marco doesn’t have. They may have the same colored eyes, but they’re not my Marco’s eyes. Tears slide down her cheeks at she looks at me with pity. 

“I’m sorry,” I choke to her, “I should’ve protected him.” 

Her lips quirk as she cups my cheek with her warm hand. “You did, this isn’t your fault,” she sighs, “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.” 

I wait for her to explain, I don’t have the energy to ask her why. 

“Well, I heard you met my Grandfather in the cemetery last week,” she says hesitantly, I still shudder with the memory of that horrifying night, “He was killed by this supernatural gang after my mom was born. Instead of having power through abilities or rare cursed objects like most supernatural groups, they got their power through information. They’d hunt and torture psychics for prophecies, especially strong ones like him...” she pauses pulling her blanket closer around her, “...And my mom. There’s been multiple times when we had to move because someone was onto her.” 

I swallow taking in the information that Marco has never mentioned, “That doesn’t change things,” I say looking into her distant eyes. 

She bites her lip, “I know, it’s just...I doubt Marco will take it very hard when he wakes up,” she mumbles. 

“I know,” I sigh, “You Bodt’s tend to take the heat for things that are never your fault anyway,” I quirk an eyebrow at her, “Except you.”

She smiles and shrugs, “Yeah well, I believe people deserve to pay for what they’ve done.”

I nod. The first time I met Amelia, she punched me in the face for second handedly killing her mother. Marco had never mentioned a single word about it. Olli held my hand and told me that everything was going to be okay. Marco had blamed himself for the fire at the college and the cemetery. I have no doubts that he’ll take this on his shoulders too. 

“Me too,” I say, “That’s why we can’t let Annie get away with this.” 

She turns to me with a million thoughts running behind her eyes, but after a moment, she nods. 

“We have to protect Marco when he can’t protect himself,” I mumble looking down at the sheets. 

Amelia smiles, “Y’know, he pretty much said the same thing when you died.” I look up at her, her soft smile and warm eyes, I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that. I never expected that she had a soft older sibling side.“It’s the only reason I didn’t make Marco leave here when we brought you back, he’d become totally attached to you. It was unbelievable, I’ve never seen him get this way with anyone.” 

My heartless chest swells with the fuzzy warmness that comes whenever I think of Marco. My Marco. 

“I think I love him Amelia,” I mumble as I stare at her hands wrapped in her blanket. 

She snorts, “I know Jean, everyone knows, a blind man could see that you two have completely fallen for each other.”

A blush runs to my cheeks and I can’t wipe the stupid smile that rises to my lips. 

“I like you Jean, you help him, he used to live in fear from his visions and having to hide who he was. He’s always tried so hard to get over it, he’s so kind and genuine with everyone he meets, but there’s always been that wall he’d put up to protect himself. But you’ve somehow managed to make him believe that he’s allowed to be himself, that he’s not a freak, and that he’s loved no matter what he thinks,” she says, “So don’t ruin it, my mother trusted that you could protect him and now so am I, don’t let me regret it.” 

I smile at the ground, “Thank you Amelia,” I mumble, “I will.” 

-

Amelia and I start to pack our stuff. I’d think that if I was going to take Marco away from here that his sisters would come too; they’re part of the deal now, part of the Marco Package. 

A few hours into the night and packing, neither one of us can fall asleep, we’re pretty much just keeping ourselves busy trying to refrain from worrying about Marco: at which I’m horribly failing. Olli has come up a few times telling us how Marco is doing and putting this cream on my skin to help the frostbite. Even though Amelia was ass naked in the middle of the freezing cold she doesn’t have a lick of frostbite on her, must be a werewolf thing. 

Eventually, Olli warns us that Mikasa and Levi are done healing Marco and they’re bringing him upstairs. A wave of relief comes over me and washes all the tightness that’s been clutching my muscles ever since I found out he was in danger. He’s okay. My Marco is okay.

Eren and Levi carry him into the bedroom and lay him gently on the bed. 

I want to puke. 

It’s been maybe three hours since I’ve seen him and I think he looks worse. His right arm is heavily wrapped with a splint on either side. Half of his face is covered in bloodied bandages, the other is a sickly pale color with blisters where the cold has burned his cheeks. His lips are still slightly blue and his closed eyes are sunken and dark. It looks like they couldn’t manage a shirt on him properly so he only has on a hoodie that’s half zipped exposing his bandaged chest. 

My Marco.

What did she do to you?

I thought he was going to be okay. Mikasa isn’t around, and I think for a fleeting second that she might be drained of some of her healing abilities after what happened to me last week. I start my self loathing for the cemetery again. I fucking hate that night. 

Levi leaves without an explanation. He looks like shit and doesn’t make eye contact, his hands are bloody and his eyes are darker than usual. I let him go without a word. 

Eren is left standing there awkwardly. He doesn’t fidget or shake like he usually does. He looks...exhausted. He stares down blearily at Marco with heavy eyes and slumped shoulders. I actually feel bad for him. He doesn’t say anything, his vibrant green eyes have dulled. 

I step beside him and go to thank him. I don’t know why, but I just have a compelling need to. I mean, he did help bring him in the house and get supplies for Levi and Mikasa, I think a thanks is appropriate. But before I can, he turns quickly and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulls me tight. 

“I’m sorry Jean,” he chokes into my shoulder. I’m so stunned that I don’t really know what to do. Like, I was just about to tell Eren, thank you, and he just hugged me and said he’s sorry. What has happened to us?

I pat his back hesitantly, “Th-thanks, buddy,” I choke. 

He leans back and looks at me with red rimmed eyes, “I’m with you,” he says gripping my shoulders. 

It takes me a moment to realize what he talking about. But it’s about leaving. He wants to come with us. I wasn’t really expecting to take anyone else. “Oh, uh, I don’t…” I already see the hope fade from his eyes, my stomach sags a bit. I swallow and pat his arm, “I just, want to see Marco right now,” I say weakly. 

He steps back and takes a quick glance at Marco, “Right,” he sighs and leaves the room. I don’t know why I feel guilty for it. 

I restrain looking at Marco to give Amelia a side glance. I plead with my eyes to ask her to leave, I just want to be alone right now. 

She swallows and nods, a stray tear clinging to her eyelashes, she wipes it away, “I’ll go help Olli pack.” She leaves the room with a lingering look at Marco and closes the door behind her.

Now we’re alone. 

The waterworks break loose.

I’m already sobbing by the time I reach him at the bed, choking on my breaths, and frantically searching to hold his good hand. My Marco. What did she do to you? 

I’m on my knees next to the bed and sobbing into his cold hand. I cry for him, for what he’s had to go through his whole life, for being the good in the world and still getting shit for it, for him thinking that he’s a freak and that he could never be normal, for having to see the people he loves in danger, for watching his mother die, for carrying the weight of the fate of the world on his shoulders. I cry for not being able to protect him, for letting him freeze out there alone and scared, for not being able to see that Armin and Annie were planning something, for not believing there was a Judas among us in the first place. 

I pray to a god that I’ve never believed in. I pray for forgiveness for letting Marco get into this, I beg for Marco to be okay, I promise to do whatever I need to do for the end of the fucking world as long as Marco gets to live. 

He would’ve never gotten into this if I didn’t drag him into it. Sure, I was told by a fucking ghost to get him, but I didn’t have to. I was scared and didn’t want to go through this alone. But now look at what I’ve done. 

I look up at him. A week ago our positions were flipped. What’s going to happen a week from now?

This is so unfair. 

I kiss his hand now wet from my tears. I lean up and kiss him on his temple. 

“I’m so sorry Marco,” I whisper, gently combing my fingertips through his wet hair. “I should’ve protected you.” 

I want him to open his eyes or squeeze my hand but he doesn’t move. The only sign of life is the slow rise and fall of his chest and the soft breaths that he sighs through his nose. 

“I should’ve listened to you,” I bite my lip, “We should’ve left sooner.” 

I wish I could be stronger for him, but I’m a wimp. I’ve become a pathetic puddle when it comes to the guilt that I feel for Marco. The only kind of hope that I can give him is drenched with self loathing. 

“But I’m gonna keep you safe now,” I sigh through tears, “I’m gonna keep you and Amelia and Olli safe.” 

I ache to see his pretty brown eyes. 

I press my lips into his hair, “Everything’s going to be okay.” 

I wish we were in a different universe. Somewhere far away from ghosts and visions and the end of the world. Somewhere Marco and I are safe. Where we can be happy and warm. Where we can live the rest of our lives without danger or harm...with each other. There is nothing I want more than for Marco to be safe and happy.   
I’m going to get him that. 

I’m going to make to sure to keep this world alive for him. 

I don’t care if I have to live or die. 

He will be safe. 

“I love you, Marco.”

-

It’s been an awful night.

Every hour or so Marco’s gasped awake screaming and crying about monsters and giants. It’s not like he’s having a vision, it’s more like nightmares. He’d thrash around enough to pull some stitches that Levi would have to suture back. I can’t calm him down from these night terrors either, I don’t think he’s really awake when it happens. The first time I flipped shit trying to calm him down, we made so much noise Amelia busted open the door and half the house flooded in. Levi did some magic thing where he’d put his hand on Marco’s head and his fingers would glow and Marco fell back asleep. Levi’s since given up running back and forth from his bedroom to ours. He’s slumped in a chair sleeping sitting up like the old man he is. I lay with Marco and try to keep him calm. 

My heart breaks with every time Marco wakes. Annie did something bad to him, not just physically. Marco’s nightmares or visions or whatever leave him sweating and panicked. I have no idea what he’s seeing. I want to help him and tell him everything’s okay, but he hasn’t been lucid yet. The only moments of consciousness are in blind panic and fear. 

It’s almost ten o’clock in the morning, and Marco’s had about half a dozen night terrors. Levi’s exhausted. I’m exhausted. I’m sure everyone else in the house is shaken by the screams that have filled their sleepless night. 

I can’t sleep anymore, I’m too scared Marco will stop breathing or something and I won’t be awake to help him. I watch as the streams of light seep around the curtains and brighten is pale skin. He looks a little better than he did last night. I think his body has finally warmed to normal. The bruising and light scratches on his face and chest have passed, Mikasa and Levi’s magic finally kicking in. His eyes aren’t really sunken anymore, he just looked like he hasn’t slept for weeks. Which seems odd being that he’s sleeping right now, but you get what I mean. 

I hold his hand a rub circles around his thumb. I have to tell myself constantly that he’s going to be okay. Marco’s stronger than I am. He can bounce back from stuff like this...I hope. No one really knows what kind of damage Annie’s done to Marco’s psyche, we can only wait until he wakes up to find out. 

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Olli steps in. I give her a half smile from the bed and she tiptoes her way to us. She’s still in her pajamas and her hair is even messier than it was last night. Her glasses sit awkwardly on her face but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Hey,” she whispers, mindful of the sleeping bear behind her. 

“Hey,” I croak back still not having moved from Marco’s side. 

She wrings her small hands together and bites her lip, “How is he?” 

I sniff and look at the clock over Marco’s shoulder. “He hasn’t woken up in almost and two hours, so pretty good I think.”

She smiles smally and nods a bit, “Good,” she sighs, “It looks like he’s healing up a bit.”

I nod in agreement.

“Do you want some breakfast?” 

I smile. “No thanks,” I whisper, “But I should be down soon.” 

She rubs her nose and mumbles an okay. She kisses her hand and softly pats Marco on his head around his bandages. The gesture warms me and she tiptoes back out of the room. 

Poor little Olli has seen so much for being so young. She doesn’t deserve this either. 

“I’ll take first watch, you go help that girl make breakfast,” I hear a grumble from the other side of the bed, “And bring me coffee.” 

“Levi?” I ask sitting up a bit. 

“Yes it’s me you fucking moron,” he spits. I see him unmoving in the chair with his eyes still closed. I sit there still confused if he’s sleeping or not. I flinch when one of his squinty eyes open. “Your boyfriend almost got himself killed when you were out, I was told not to let that happen with you this time.” 

“By who?”

“Does it fucking matter?” he grumbles. 

I swallow and hastily go through the list of people that Levi would listen to. I come up with nothing. 

“I-”

“Just go Kirstein, I’ll call if anything happens.”

Not really wanting to fight him this early in the morning, I leave one last kiss on Marco’s temple and roll off the bed. I promise myself to only be gone for five minutes to pee and grab some coffee for us. 

I stumble my way to the kitchen. The room smells of coffee and bacon, by stomach rumbles awake. Olli is humming to herself as she pokes at something on the stove. Her lightheartedness is confusing yet much appreciated. I walk up beside her and lean on the counter. 

“Whatchya got there?” I hum. 

She looks up at me a smiles, “Bacon, cheesy potatoes, and pancakes,” she says, “It’s Marco’s favorite. My mom would always make it whenever he had a bad vision the night before.”

I nod and my chest aches for Marco. 

“She said that he would wake up smelling bacon and he’d be all better,” she sniffs and flips a strip of pork, “Maybe it’ll help him now.”

I smile and give into her innocent hope for Marco to be awaken by the smell of bacon. It’s better than nothing I guess, and I can’t remember the last time I had a breakfast like this.

I look around the counter and see all ingrediants she’s plucked from Armin’s stash. I’m not really surprised that he has this much food stocked. I grab a bowl and start whipping up the pancake batter. 

“Pancakes are on me,” I call to Olli. 

She turns quickly with a raised eyebrow, “You can cook?” 

Mildly offended, I raise an eyebrow back at her, “Prepare to be amazed.” She shrugs and turns back to the stove. I don’t tell her that I learned how to cook from my dead grandmother whenever my parents were at work. They’d come home and my mom would recognize the food and I’d tell her that I found one of Grandma’s recipes in one of her old books, after that they wouldn’t think anything of it. 

People start to filter in the kitchen from the smell of a home cooked breakfast. I’m sure it’s been a long time for everyone to have a breakfast like this. Amelia helps with the potatoes and Eren cuts fruit to decorate the pancakes. Hanji wanders in and starts munching on a banana. Even Erwin comes around sitting at the kitchen table and reads stuff on his phone as he sips at some coffee. The only people who aren’t here are Levi, Mikasa, and Armin. I worry for Mikasa again. 

I swallow a bit of pride to look up at Eren, “So, uh, have you heard from Mikasa?” I ask biting back my instinct to insult him for latching onto my only ex. 

His light facade cracks and he looks down at a bowl of strawberries. “She’s...she’s not doing great,” he takes a deep breath and grabs another berry to slice, “She’s weak from everything that’s been happening, she needs rest.”

I nod looking down at the strawberry he’s cutting. 

“Just, try not to get hurt anytime soon,” he smiles slightly, “Or you’re just gonna have to tough it out.” 

I nod at him, “Fair enough.” 

The feeling in the room is unfamiliar. It’s not tense or panicked or stressed. It’s not filled with fearing thoughts of pain and death. There’s no thousand yard stares or silent crying. No planning or praying. This feeling has nothing to do with the end of the world. It feels foreign. It’s been so long since I’ve felt relaxed and easygoing. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a smile, since I’ve smiled. There’s happiness in the room. Sure, our hearts are still weighted with the impending doom of the end of the world, but we’re just not thinking of that right now, we’re tired of thinking of it. It’s time we had a break. It’s time we make breakfast together, smile a little more, worry a little less. 

It feels good. It feels like home.

But something’s missing. 

As my empty chest fills with the joy and lightness in the room, it still feels cold and a little lonely. I wish Marco was here. I want him to be next to me sprinkling chocolate chips in the pancake batter, or sneaking bites of bacon behind Olli’s back, or humming dumb 80’s music as he cuts up berries. 

One day, I think, one day we’ll have that.

Although the aching lack of Marco’s presence weighs on my soul, I’m proud of us. I’m proud how all of us have come out of this hell of a situation and demanded that it won’t hurt us. I’m proud to see how Olli’s resilience has found it’s way into everyone’s hearts. That fourteen year old girl is stronger than all of us. 

I scoot around Amelia who’s slicing potatoes to make a spot for myself beside Olli in front of the stove. She looks up at me a bit and I give her a wink. I start frying up the pancakes in unrecognizable shapes, because circle pancakes are for squares. 

“You suck at that,” I hear Olli snort beside me. 

I flip the pancake that looks a bit like a snail and stick out my hip, “How do you know I’m not doing it on purpose?” 

She looks up at me and squints, “You’re weird.” 

I shrug, “I’ve been told.”

She snorts again and goes back to poking the popping strips bacon that sit in a puddle of grease. She plucks a strip from a pile that she has to the side and waves it in front of me. “Here,” she says.

I take it and grin, “Ah, favoritism I see?” I chime and practically swallow the greasy strip of heaven whole. 

She rolls her eyes, “Sure,” she shrugs, “Now go kiss my brother and wake him up.” 

I turn and raise an eyebrow at her, “And I’m the weird one?” 

“Yes.” 

Guess you can’t deny logic. 

“Alright alright, help me make a plate for him,” I mumble wiping my hands on my sweatpants and turning. “Eren, you’re on pancakes.” 

The kid looks up, startled, and shuffles to the stove. Olli grabs a plate and piles food on top of it. Funny enough, I’m not surprised by the amount of food she’s putting together. One of the first things I learned about Marco this week is that he eats food like a vacuum, or a garbage truck, or a bear, or all three. The kid eats a lot, okay?

“Wawait,” I sputter as Olli’s stacking pancakes on the plate, “Take this one.” I pluck up a heart shaped pancake and toss it onto the plate.

Olli looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows, “Really?” 

A blush threatens my cheeks, but I’m not that embarrassed, I know Marco will love it. “Shut up,” I mutter. 

She sets up a nice little tray with the mountain of a plate, a cup of coffee, a glass of water, and fruit nicely decorated on the side. I thought she was done but then she grabs my shirt and sticks another piece of bacon in my face.

I give her a glare but she insists, “For good luck.”

I open my mouth, still glaring at her, and let her pop the piece of bacon in my mouth. “Still weird,” I grumble sarcastically around a mouthful of bacon.   
“Just go weirdo,” she says going back to the stove.

“Yeah yeah,” I mutter. As I leave the kitchen I hear a drawn out, “Whiiiiipped,” from Eren. Normally I sock him in the jaw for it, but I smile beside myself. I don’t care. Olli actually cares about me, I think. Well, she likes me enough to expect me to wake her brother from a true loves bacon filled kiss. It’s nice. The only other family I knew of my girlfriend’s was Mikasa’s, in which that was Levi, and he hates me. So it’s nice to have Marco’s family think I’m good enough for him, because I sure dont. 

I shuffle my way back to our room trying to keep the drinks from spilling. Marco’s still on the beat up bed, and Levi’s still snoozing in the chair like an old man. I feel a weird sense of anxiety in the form of hope for Olli’s instruction. I want Marco to wake up, but is me kissing him with bacon really going to do that?

I set the tray down on the side table closest to Marco’s head, taking a moment to admire his peacefulness. 

I go to Levi in his chair, “Go downstairs, we made breakfast, I’ll call if I need you,” I say nudging his bare foot. 

He grunts in response, lazily dragging himself out of the chair and out the room. I smile a little at his obvious exhaustion, Levi doesn’t usually show vulnerability like that. After he’s gone, I go back to Marco and sit next to him on the bed. I trail my hand from his elbow to his thigh, feeling distinctly achy for the Marco sized void in my chest. 

“Your sister said your mom used to make breakfast for you after you had a bad vision during the night,” I mumble to him, rubbing gentle circles on his thigh, “She also said you like bacon, like, a lot,” I smile. 

I’ve gotten used to Marco not answering me and my pathetic conversation with him as he’s sleeping. I sigh and bite my lip, “Your sister also wanted me to do this.” 

I lean down and gently plant a kiss on his dry lips embarrassingly wanting this to work so fucking bad. The kiss is one sided, there’s no magical moment where he starts to kiss me back and threads a hand in my hair. It actually sucks. It only reminds me that Marco isn’t awake and the only thing this lips have been doing all night were screaming. 

I lean back and watch for a flutter of his eyes or a twitch from his mouth. But there’s nothing. Marco’s still unconscious and I’m still empty. I sit up and feel embarrassed and regretful. I shouldn’t have done that. This is stupid, we’re not in a fucking Disney movie. 

I stand and open the curtains to let the reflecting sun fill the room. I ignore what I just did to Marco and plan to do some drawing. I grab my sketchbook and open it to the picture of Marco having a vision, I kind of hate it. When I first started drawing the picture I enjoyed it because I’ve never seen someone have a vision before, I thought it was some artistic side of beauty in the supernatural psyche of psychics. But now I look at it and I don’t see beauty; I see pain and horrid ugliness. There’s no beauty in this. This is unfair and unkind. I don’t like seeing Marco like this, I don’t like seeing him scared and shaking. I look up at him lying motionless on the bed; I don’t like seeing him like this either, beaten and broken. The things that have happened to Marco are terrible. What god would let this happen to a person like him? 

I pull up a chair and start to mindlessly draw. I don’t know what my pencil is doing, I don’t have a plan, but I certainly don’t want to draw Marco like this. My sketches inevitably turn to something resembling him though, my hand decides to ignore my body and draw Marco somehow happy. But I suck at drawing from memory, it never ends up how it’s supposed to be. So pictures change to something darker, something angry and confused. The pain I’ve seen Marco in leaks into my horrifying depictions of him. I can’t draw him as the beautiful person that I know he is, I think I’m too hurt to. 

I end up getting so frustrated that I rip out a bunch of pages in my sketchbook. I fling them across the room and huff out a frustrated puff of air. I close the book and look back at Marco. Nothing’s changed. He hasn’t moved, his food’s now cold, and I’m angry. I remember waking up when I was knocked out by good ol’ Grandpa Bodt. Marco said I was out for four days. I wonder if he’ll be gone for that long too; I don’t think the world can survive four more days without him, I don’t think I can either. 

I go to start another frustrating drawing because I’m too stubborn to learn my lesson when there’s a knock at the door. I sigh and close my sketchbook, maybe it’s a sign. 

“Come in,” I say as I stretch and groan, my joints giving pops and cracks in protest. 

Hanji skips in with a terribly hidden grin and her hand behind her back. I raise an eyebrow at her as she bounces across the room to where I am in the chair beside Marco. She stops in front of me nearly bursting at the seams with hidden excitement. 

“What?” I say hesitantly up at her. She bounces on her toes and bends down. It’s amazing how not only does Hanji look like a bad 80’s movie mad scientist, but she moves like it too. I think her and Dr. Emmett Brown from Back to the Future would be great friends. 

She squeaks a bit, “I’ve done it,” she jitters. 

Knowing Hanji, she’s not going to just leave it at that, she wants me to ask her what she’s talking about. I know I don’t have to because eventually she’ll get too impatient and tell me anyways. Although I decide to humor her.

“What did you-”

“The Soul Stone! I’ve done it! I’ve made a pendant consisting of parts of your heart and other bodily fluids to create an intangible force that spirits can’t grasp!” she squeals and winces when I warn her with a look that she’s being too loud around Marco. She continues in a comically loud whisper, “The tricky part was finding a part of your soul that was stronger than anything else. For most people, it’s the memory of their family or a specific day in their life, but for you, I didn’t even have to ask. So when Levi and Mikasa were healing Marco last night, I took some blood samples and did a little experimenting-”

“You did what?” I spit at her, mindful of my voice. 

“I took your tissue samples and mixed them with Marcos. It’s simple-”

“You took blood from my dying boyfriend?” I say my voice matching her loud whisper. 

“Of course, it was-”

“Hanji!” I whisper-shout at her and stand so she has to look up at me. “You can’t do that, what’s wrong with you?”

“Oh please, he was losing enough blood that all of us could’ve taken some-”

“Hanji!” She freezes. I decide that I don’t want to have to whisper anymore and drag her out of the room. We stop in the hallway and I turn to her. “Seriously? You’re really going say something like that when he nearly died?”

“Okay okay, I’m sorry, but anyway…” she continues like she doesn’t give a crap that I’m upset, “...I used your tissues to create your heart. Well, not a real heart, but what romantics would call you center, your core, or something-”

“Please, Hanji,” I groan, already feeling a headache coming on, “Just get to the point, and explain to me why in the fucking world you needed a blood sample from Marco for your magic rock.” 

“He’s your center Jean,” she says surprisingly serious, “He’s the strongest part of your soul now. He was the thought that kept you alive at the cemetery.” I’ve never seen Hanji so genuine and sincere. The look in her eyes isn’t ballistic or frantic, it’s soft and warm. What the fuck? 

She pulls her hand from behind her back and holds up a thin silver chain with a circular red stone hanging from it. She dangles it in the air between us. 

“This, Jean, is what’s going to keep you alive when you have to fight an army of demons. This is the only part of your soul that no one and nothing can take. Well, unless you take it off, so don’t do that, but this is the only thing that will keep you alive out there,” she says handing me the necklace. 

I let her place it into my hand and feel a soothing kind of warmth omit from it. It sits in my palm and feels so familiar, like home. Hanji resorts back to her excited scientist and glows. “Go on then, put it on.”

I raise an eyebrow at her, “Are you sure it’s not gonna make me blow up or something?” 

Hanji shrugs, “Hope not.”

“Thanks,” I mutter. I hesitantly put the necklace on waiting for it to chop my head off or start talking to me. I don’t know, I just really don't trust magical trinkets.

It’s anticlimactic when I have the necklace on for a whole ten seconds and nothing happens. I sigh and look back up at Hanji, “How do I look-AH-”

I’m cut off by a burning fire the seeps into the skin of my neck and trails through my blood. It’s blazing hot as I feel it shoot pin balls in between my neurons. The burning collects in my chest, where that empty cold feeling has been for the past week and buries itself under my ribs and in between my lungs. I wheeze out a curse at Hanji but that’s when the images start. 

Let me tell you, one of the most important things that I’ve learned about the end of the world, is that visions fucking suck. Like, poor Marco, I’ve had like two and I want to die. The images flash like flickering lights through my head, all of them of Marco. The college, the sandwich shop, his family’s house, the cemetery, the snow, the garden, the movies, the library, everything. All of them fly through my head in an instant. It’s unbelievably amazing yet terrifying. 

The pictures stop, and I open my eyes to see Hanji’s knees and her dirty boots. I look up at her, out of breath and sweating, and give the best death glare I can.   
“You’re welcome,” she quirks. I growl at her and she ignores it. She bends and pulls at my arm, heaving me up to my feet. Once again I’m amazed by the strength of the people around me. “Now c’mon, let me show you what this thing can really do.” 

“You’re crazy,” I grumble as she opens the door to the bedroom and skips inside. I stumble after her swallowing down the last of the burning. 

“Definitely, but in a good way,” she chirps as she trots next to Marco who’s still motionless on the bed. She awkwardly points with both of her hands at him, “Now kiss him.”

I freeze, “What?”

“Kiss him, it’ll be great, I promise,” she jitters. 

What is it with these people and pretending that Marco and I care a couple of Disney princes or something? I’m in a house full of freaks. 

“Once again, you’re crazy,” I huff at her. 

She bats away my words with her hand and ushers at Marco again. “Come on! Please, you have to, you won’t regret it.”

I roll my eyes at her childishness. “If I do, will you leave us alone?”

“Yes yes of course, not another peep out of me,” she nods. 

I roll my eyes again. Freaks. 

I shuffle to the bed and hesitantly sit next to Marco. Hanji’s eyes are like daggers, she really has a way with people and making them uncomfortable. 

I mutter another insult under my breath and start to lean down to him. I try to act like she’s not there feeling that weird awkwardness from before with the bacon kiss. All she wants is a kiss, right? She’s standing right there watching me about to kiss my unconscious boyfriend, god this is so weird. I lean down a give Marco a quick peck on the lips and sit back up. 

I glare back up at Hanji who’s frowning, “There, ya happy?”

“No,” she pouts, “You gotta really get in there, do it for real-”

“Ew, no, you’re so fucking weird,” I stand and start herding her to the door against her protests, “I did what you asked and thank you for the weird necklace but I’d like you to kindly get the fuck out nUH-”

I’m cut off by Hanji’s right hook nailing me in the nose. Colors fly through my vision, this is one of those times where I’m totally confused why a girl punched me in the face, I mean, usually I deserve it. I stumble back and almost collapse on my ass but Hanji grabs my arms and jerks me towards her. 

“Hey! What the fuck?” I yell trying to bat her away without actually hitting her. I usually have enough self control to refrain from hitting a girl, unless it’s Annie, but Hanji’s blow was completely out of the blue. She’s wiping her hand across my face and pinning me with her arm, I try to kick her out by the knees but I’m distracted with her weird hand all over my face, “Fuck, Hanji, stoAH-” She hooks her first two fingers up my nose, wiggles them around a bit, and yanks them back out. It hurts worse than the actual punch. 

Apparently satisfied with my nose blood coating her fingers, she lets me go and turns to helpless Marco. 

“No,” I grumble through my throbbing face. No way am I letting her go anywhere near Marco with her weirdness. With one hand holding my nose, I use the other to grab at Hanji’s arm and pull her away from Marco. The look in her eyes is not something to be comforted by. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you touch him with your weird dark magic shit you fucking necromancer.”

In one swift movement, Hanji is able to twist out of my grasp, shove me out of the way, and stick her bloodied fingers into Marco’s mouth. I choke on the blood running down the back of my throat and yell another curse at her, she just grins down at me with her disgusting fingers in my unconscious boyfriends mouth and her hand on her hip. 

I growl and lunge at her, I wrap my arms around her waist and drag her to the ground. She lets out a yelp of surprise and starts to laugh once I get her pinned to the ground. I’m on top of her, both of her hands in my grasp pinned above her head, with a wicked look in my eyes, and she’s fucking laughing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell into her face. “Why the hell did you do that?” 

She continues to laugh. She’s such a freak. I’m actually weirded out by how fucking weird she is. 

“Hanji!” I shout, the fumes from my anger omitting from my pores. 

“Jean!” I hear someone yell behind us. “What are doing?” Eren scrambles over to Hanji and I on the floor and pulls on my arm to get me off of her, I let him. He notices my busted nose and winces, “Jesus, what happened?”

“She fucking punched me and took my blood and fed it to Marco,” I yell like an angry toddler to a parent. Eren turns to Hanji on the ground and helps her up. 

“Oh please Jean, don’t be so dramatic,” Hanji charms.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve got to be kidding me you fucking-”

“Jean, fuck, calm down,” Eren says putting a hand to my chest. I’m a little shocked to hear those words come from Eren’s mouth, being that he’s probably more hot-headed than I am, I decide to take it down a bit. 

“Just get her out of here,” I mutter to Eren. He frowns at me and turns to the proud Hanji. 

“No way, I gotta see this,” Hanji bounces on her toes and peers over my shoulder. 

“No, seriously, get the fuck out or I’ll make you get the fuck out,” I growl, my plan to chill suddenly becoming irrelevant.

“Jean-” Eren starts curling his fingers around my arm protectively.

“Don’t you ‘Jean’ me, get her out of here-”

“You need to fucking calm down,” he says putting himself between Hanji and I. Hanji doesn’t even look interested anymore, she’s glowing looking past me. 

“Dude, don’t even try, you get out too-”

“Hey! I was trying to keep you from killing someone who just saved your life-”

“She punched me in the face for no fucking reason-”

“That doesn’t give you permission to attack her-”

“Attack her? Did you seriously not hear what I just said?”

“Jean.”

“Oh, shut up, I’m sure you did something to deserve a punch in the face you fucking asshole-”

“Fuck you! Get the fuck out or I swear-”

“Jean.”

“You swear what? What’re you going to fucking do?”

“I’ll fucking punch you in a face and see how you like it, how about that?”

“I fucking dare you-”

I hear Hanji squeal but I ignore it. Eren’s my target for destruction now. 

“Jean, please don’t punch him.” I hear a groggy voice from behind us, but I’m so blinded with rage that I don’t register whose voice it is.

“Get the fuck out Eren, I don’t care what you-”

“Jean,” he says quietly, looking over my shoulder down at the bed with gaping eyes. “Look.”

I freeze. My stomach drops. My rage vanishes. 

Marco?

I turn already feeling pathetic wet glops of tears float to my eyes. My breath hitches when I see Marco, lying on the bed, eyes open, looking at me. I choke out a sob and fall into him. 

“Hohmy god, Marco, you’re awake,” I whimper finding his good hand and bringing it to my lips. “You’re alive, oh my god you’re alive.”

Marco stares up at me and smiles, I start to cry even more. He moves his hand in my grasp and cups my face wiping away tears with his thumb. 

“Yes! I knew it!” Hanji cries from behind us. “The power of necromancy never ceases to amaze me! Ha HA!” 

I hear Eren clear his throat, “Heh, I’ll just take her then,” he mumbles, “It’s good to have you back Marco.”

They shuffle out of the room, Hanji still praising herself and the power of science, Eren trying to calm her down. I don’t take my eyes off of Marco, I notice his confusion as his eyes trail after the duo leaving. He looks back at me still confused. 

“Uh, what just happened?” he asks.

I choke out a wet laugh, “I have no idea,” I sigh, “But you’re back and that’s all that matters.”

“How long?” Marco asks.

“About fourteen hours,” I say, running my fingers down the non-bandaged side of his face, “You’ve been in and out.”

“I don’t remember,” he mumbles with a concerned look on his broken face. 

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about that right now,” I whisper turning and pacing a kiss in his palm. I lean back and notice my blood on his hand having forgotten all about my punched in face. 

“What happened?” he asks his thumb tracing my cheekbone. 

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrug. “Tell me how you feel. Are you hurting? Are you hungry? Can I get something for you?”

Marco smiles again and wheezes out a restrained laugh that ends in a wince. “I’m fine Jean, don’t be weird.” 

“I’m not being weird, I want to help you,” I say admiring his pretty brown eyes that I’ve been aching to see for these past long hours. Marco doesn’t argue. I know he’s probably thinking up a bunch of excuses to try and get to me to calm my Mom Mode, but he chooses to just stare up at me. “Let me take care of you.”

He nods a bit, wincing again at the movement. He’s in pain. Well, obviously, no one gets in a fight with Annie and leaves without a scrape. I would know. I go to the side table where Olli had made a makeshift Healer's toolbox with frostbite cream, pain killers, sleeping oils, and treated bandages. I grab a few painkillers and the glass of water that he was supposed to have with the rest of his breakfast.

I help him into a sitting position as he tries to lie into saying that it doesn’t hurt, but I know him too well by know to give into that crap. He swallows the pills and drinks the water, it makes me feel better that he’s letting me help him. I start to gather some bandages so I can replace some of the ones on his face and neck. I notice this distant look in his eyes. 

I peel off the first bandage that lies right above his eyebrow, “Whatchya thinking about?” I hum, dabbing some scar dissolving cream over the jagged red line that curves up his forehead. 

He blinks out of his fog and looks up at me a bit, “Oh, uh, I thought I remembered something.” 

I nod. Honestly, I don’t want Marco to remember what happened to him last night. None of it. Not the night terrors, not the cold, not the vision, not Annie, nothing. I feel like it’s a burden he shouldn’t have to carry.

“I know I had a vision but I don’t know what it was about,” he mumbles. I continue to replace his bandages, satisfied that his wounds are healing but they’re leaving some nasty scars that I think only Mikasa can help. “It was those Titan things again. I don’t know why, but I feel like-”

He stops and his pupils shrink. He stares down in the small space between us, I feel my false idea of a heart skip a beat. I cup his face and try to catch his eyes.

“Marco?”

His eyes slowly trail up to mine. His eyes spill waves of fear over the rest of his body, making him tense and paranoid. 

“Hey, it’s okay, what is it?” I coo. 

He lets her name escape his lips in a wavering frightened breath, like he felt like he was being watched or speaking a forbidden secret. 

“Annie.”


	9. Soup

As soon as Marco’s memories rushed back to his damaged skull, he jumped out of bed and started running out of the room. I have no idea how he did it. I mean, even I could hear his body crack and pop as he stumbled on wobbly legs. I could see him ignoring the pain with a grit of his teeth and a wince in his eyes. 

I chased after him, freaked out by his immediate instinct to just run and by the sheer fact that he could run let alone walk. I flailed to try and sit him back down, but damn was that kid is on a mission. 

So here I am, chasing my crazy, half beaten, vision-hazed, (yet adorable) boyfriend through this museum of a house. He’s rambling onto himself, it disturbingly reminds me of something Hanji would do. Although, he doesn’t seem scared or panicked, it’s more like determination with some form of a revelation. 

He limps down the hallway, his right arm wrapped to his torso only makes his limp worse, and his other hand he’s using to talk to himself. 

“Marco, what’re you doing? You need rest,” I reach after his flying arm and grab his wrist, stopping him to a halt. He finally turns to me with wide eyes and a crazy smile. “Seriously, Dude, what the fuck?”

“She told me,” he breathes, “She told me what I was missing. The titans, they’re not actually titans, they’re humans, humans that’ve been possessed, possessed by the horsemen! It all makes sense now!” He exclaims turning to start blazing down the hall again, I keep his wrist in my hold to stop him again. 

“What the hell are you talking about, that makes no sense?” I whine, hoping that I’m just missing something and not that Annie gave Marco some sort of brain damage. “What titans? What humans? And what the fuck is a horsemen?”

“It’s the end Jean,” he says still with the creepy smile on his face, “The end is coming.”

I try to understand why he’s so happy to have come to this conclusion. Especially when I thought that the end was already near. 

“Marco, baby, I don’t get it. Please, just go lay back down, you’re gonna fall or something and get yourself even more hurt-”

“We have to tell Armin,” he says turning and pulling me along with him. 

“Wowoah woah,” I say yanking my arm back, “We most certainly are  _ not _ going to do that.”

Marco freezes with me, “What? Why?” 

“He let you get hurt, Marco, when you’re strong enough we’re leaving,” I say feeling the heat of hate rise to my chest when I think about Armin. 

“What do you…?” he drifts off, remembering what happened last night, and blinks back up to me, “Jean, he had nothing to do with that,” he says turning to a calming kind of serious, “Annie just-”

“No Marco, I know what you’re going to do and I won’t let you. You can’t rationalize and take the blame for everything, what Annie did was wrong and Armin was a part of it, they need to be punished,” I demand trying to be the backbone for both Marco and I.

“Jean, she was desperate and scared, the only part Armin had to do with it was that Annie was trying to protect him-”

“Marco, do you hear yourself? Look at you, you just spent the whole night waking up from night terrors and having to get stitched back together over and over again. But you’re just willing to forget all of it because she was scared?” I say, my voice rising. 

“And you’re going to hold it against her for how long? Because I’m not thinking we have much time to hold any grudges,” he snaps back. 

Woah. I didn’t expect that from him.

In my speechless surprise Marco makes his escape and continues down the hall and stairs. I get my shit together and begrudgingly follow after him. I don’t want to be mad at Marco, but I just think he’s letting himself be walked on. Someone could kill him and he’d say that they were just having a bad day. 

I watch him as he limps with his hoodie half on and his bandages falling off. He goes to the Library where Armin and Erwin would be on any other day. 

Inside the Library, there’s only Erwin whos sitting on a chair with his feet up and a book in his hands. He shifts his eyes slowly over his book when Marco busts in. Marco stands there confused and out of breath, I make sure to stand close to catch him if he passes out. 

“Wha-Where’s Armin?” He huffs out. 

“Gone,” Erwin grunts without moving.

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” He asks confused and a bit discouraged. Although I’m totally pissed at Armin and wishes that he’s in a puddle of his own man tears feeling miserably guilty for what he’s done, I still hope he hasn’t done something stupid like leave the fucking house on his own. 

“He left,” he grunts again, folding the book closed and crossing his arms. He looks tired, oddly. Much like Levi, I picked up that vibe that Erwin isn’t much for showing weakness or vulnerabilities. But now, he looks worn and exhausted. “After the stunt Jean pulled last night he felt that the only way to earn your trust was to bring Annie back.” 

“No,” Marco mumbles to himself, stepping back with a shuddering breath. 

“Is there a reason he shouldn’t have left?” Erwin asks like he’s hunting. His eyes change, something dark yet captivating catches my attention. Marco’s head slowly lifts and his eyes flick to Erwins. He stands there unmoving, eerily still, I almost want to poke him to see if he’s still awake. “Is there, Marco?” 

“He’s gonna die out there,” he speaks low and slowly, his voice isn’t his own, “Annie doesn’t have control of what’s going to happen to her.”

“And what’s going to happen to her?” Erwin coos like a lullaby.  

“She is Death,” Marco drones, “She brings death to this dimension and everyone in it.” 

The stone hanging from the chain in my neck thumps. It feels like my heart. It can sense the fear that’s growing through my fingers and on the back of my neck. 

“And when will this happen?” Erwin charms standing and slithering up to Marco and I. A protective instinct sparks in my spine and I’m ready at any moment to pull Marco away or punch Erwin in the face. 

“Death is the last of the four horsemen,” Marco says, “After Conquest, War, and Famine.” 

“How Christian,” Erwin hums to himself, then turns back to Marco, “When is Conquest’s arrival?” 

Getting suspicious of his taunting questions, I give a little look to Marco. His pupils are blown past his brown eyes, making him look like a cat, and his bottom lip is lined with drool as he gapes up at Erwin. What the hell?

“The horsemen are ready, only now do we wait for the devil...”

“Marco?” I mutter, grabbing him by the shoulder and giving him a little shake. 

“...to find his vessel. Then will the horsemen arrive with fire and evil.”

Erwin smiles to himself looking down at Marco with his soothing voice and velvet tongue. He’s done something to Marco.

I pull back on Marco, but his gaze is locked onto Erwin. “Marco, snap out of it,” I grunt, pushing him away from Erwin and putting myself between the two. But, no matter how far apart I get them, Marco is still looking at him like the sun.

I turn to Erwin, him and his eyebrows, “Hey! Cut that shit out,” I growl ready to take a swing. 

He gives one last soft smile and breaks eye contact with Marco. Marco exhales like he was holding his breath and his eyes fade back to brown. Erwin turns and goes back to his chair. Even with his back turned to us the guy still gives me the creeps. I don’t want to stay long enough to ask him what he did to Marco, all I know is to just get him out of here. 

I push Marco out of the room and close the library doors to let the snake be by his lonesome. Marco blinks at me with confusion. 

“Did he just?” He huffs trying to put the pieces together. 

“I have no idea, lets just go,” I say pulling on his arm and dragging him back up stairs. 

“He has psychic compulsion,” Marco mumbles, “He’s psychic.”

The only room that I’ve deemed safe in this fucking house is our bedroom. It’s the only place where we have any kind of control. The longer we stay here the more we find out that we aren’t safe. 

I drag Marco back to where we started, sitting him on the bed and trying to calm him. 

“What do you mean he’s psychic? There’s another person that can see the future?” I ask watching Marco’s eyes flick back and forth as he thinks through whatever just happened. 

“No no, he can’t see the future, he has a different psychic ability,” he sighs clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “He’s not who he says he was.” 

“I knew it,” I mumble.

“What?” Marco perks up.

“Nothing,” I pass, “But,uh, what do you mean he has psychic abilities?”

Marco sits up and sighs through his nose, looking tired and worn all over again. I think he’s getting tired of this shit too. “Most deemed ‘supernatural’ abilities, are technically psychic abilities. There’s a whole range of gifts that fall under the category as ‘psychic’,” he says like he’s known this forever, “So, me, for instance, my denomination of psychic abilities are mainly clairvoyance and precognition. And you, technically, have what’s formally called mediumship.” 

I sit in front of him thinking this over, I’ve never really come across this information. No one ever taught me and I didn’t really do much research as a kid, not to this extent at least. 

“So we’re all psychics?” I ask like a stupid person. 

“Kind of, I guess, some abilities just have more substantial names than others,” Marco shrugs, “But yeah, psychic, in a dictionary term, pretty much just means unnatural mind powers.” 

I pop my lips, “Right.” 

I think back to what Marco was, apparently, being forced to tell Erwin. He talked about the horsemen, and anyone who’s watched any kind of end of the world tv show or movie, have seen the horsemen. They’re always depicted differently, but I get the idea. The horsemen are the four bringers of the apocalypse. The idea originates from the Bible. Marco said Annie was Death, the horsemen. I have no idea what that means. 

I look at Marco and I can practically see the madness and confusion swirling around him. He’s just woken up from being beaten within an inch of his life, force fed another vision about the apocalypse, and had a spell put on his tongue to spill everything he knows. I need to get him out of here. We’ve been in this house too long. 

I lean forward and kiss him in the top of his head. “It’s okay, I’m gonna get you out of here.”

He snorts weakly, “And go where?” he sighs. 

Oh. Right. I didn’t even think of that. 

I think assumed my apartment, guess that’s a better place than anywhere else. 

“Don’t worry about it,” I say like I know what I’m doing. Marco obviously sees through my act, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Just take a shower and I’ll have everyone ready, okay?”

He looks hesitant to my proposal, but relents and limps his way to the bathroom. “If you need any help, I’ll be here,” I say with both charm and sincerity. 

Marco turns with an eyebrow raised, “You wish, pretty boy,” he smiles closing the door behind him. I hold in a goofy grin but let myself totally check him out when his back is turned to me. 

I wait for the shower to start before I go and find Amelia and Olli. There’s a subtle fear in my head that something’s happened to them even though I’ve been looking for them for a solid two seconds. I think I’m just paranoid and totally not cool with the idea that there’s a bunch of people in this house with mind powers. I find Amelia and Olli in the kitchen cleaning and talking about what’s going to happen to vampires at the end of the world. I’m slightly horrified how they can talk about the apocalypse so comfortably. 

They come upstairs with me, Olli was about ready to run into the bathroom as Marco was showering because she was so excited that he was awake. She also insisted that the bacon kiss worked, I decided to let her have it. 

The three of us sit in the bedroom, happy that Marco’s awake and well, and anxious yet relieved to be leaving the house. 

“Y’know, I kinda liked it here,” Olli says fiddling with a loose strand on the sleeve of her sweater, “Armin was really nice, and Mikasa taught me a lot. And we don’t really know what’s going on out there, there could be zombies or something.” 

I nod, trying not to feel bad for taking her from someplace where she felt safe. 

“There aren’t going to be any zombies Olli,” Amelia hums, “And besides we’ll be with Alla, she’s probably got this thing under control like it’s no big deal.”

“Who’s Alla?” I poke in confused with Amelia’s plan to see this person once we leave. 

“She’s a family friend, after Dad left she was like our second mom,” she says like it matters in this situation. I continue to look at her confused until she explains further, “She’s a voodoo priestess, she’s almost as powerful as our mom was. I assumed you didn’t actually have a plan once we left the house so I decided that we should stay with her.”

I’m annoyed that Amelia finds me so predictable, I’m also mad that she’s right. “Okay, but we’re not gonna have to, like, take a boat to her house in the middle of a swamp or something, right?” 

“This is Charleston Jean, not New Orleans,” she says. 

“Sorry, I don’t know any Voodoo Priestesses personally,” I shrug. Amelia rolls her eyes and Olli giggles. 

The shower turns off and Olli’s eyes light up. The love she has for her brother is adorable. I’m shamefully excited too, but ain’t no way I’m showing it.

Before Marco makes his grand entrance, there’s a knock at the bedroom door. I groan and shuffle to the door honestly not wanting to have much to do with anyone in this goddamn house. 

I open the door just enough to see who’s on the other side. 

Eren’s fuzzy head and vibrant eyes stand in front me. 

“Uh, hey,” I grunt. 

“Hey,” he chews on his lip, “Can I talk to you?” he asks in a hushed voice. 

“...no.” 

“C’mon, dude, seriously?” he whines. I relent and join him in the hallway. 

“What do you want?” I groan crossing my arms and standing in front of the door protectively. 

“Just, hear me out,” he warns, “I want to come with you guys, I know that if you and Marco leave, we don’t stand a chance.”

“Eren-”

“Dude,” he pauses, frustrated by my interrupting, “We can’t do this if we separate. Levi’s tired and old, Hanji probably has some weird necromancing way to survive this, Erwin looks like he’s waiting for the end to come, and Armin’s gone. You are the only chance we have,” he sighs, “I just want to be on the winning side.”

“Eren, I’m not leaving for the fun of it, it’s something we have to do. And I don’t want you to get involved,” I say hoping he gets the idea before I have to start really making him mad. 

“I’m already in it, we’re  _ all _ already in it, what’re we supposed to do when you’re gone?” he begs challenge brightening his eyes. 

“Stay out of the way,” I growl. “There’s nothing any of you can do once we’re gone, so just leave us alone.” I try to let that be my ending statement, but Eren grabs my arm before I can turn around. 

“So you really don’t care about us anymore? We’ve been roommates for years and you don’t care? What about Mikasa? The only girl you ever loved, and you’re just going to leave her like she never mattered?” he pleads. This isn’t like Eren, usually he’d throw a tantrum or a punch to the gut. But now he’s actually worried, he’s holding back to try and show how genuine he is. 

“I can’t put everyone I’ve ever cared for in a backpack and carry you all around, there’s more important things at stake. We need you to just leave us alone, just hope that we don’t fuck this over as much as Armin did,” I say yanking my arm back. 

“So that’s it? Hope that you guys can figure everything out and wait until we either die or the sun comes out?” he snaps. 

“I don’t care what you do, just stay out of our fucking way,” I hiss turning and opening the door. 

“I hope your sorry ass is dragged to hell,” he growls under his breath. 

I look over my shoulder, “Oh I’m sure it will, and I’ll be looking forward to seeing you there.” Before Eren can punch me, I escape back into the room and hope he doesn’t come barging in.

Thankfully Eren decided to cave (oddly) and we’re safe from the wrath of anymore members of the end of the world club knocking down our door. Now all we have to do is leave. 

-

It’s been two weeks since I’ve driven, and it feels so fucking good. 

These past weeks I’ve been poked, prodded, ripped apart and put back together, it just feels good to be in control again...well, somewhat, at least. 

Everyone is silent as we pull out of the snow sloshed driveway and through the grand iron gates. The sky is murky, and the snow covered ground is worn gray. What once was a beautiful South Carolina scene with green oak trees, blue skies, and a glowing sun, has been washed a rung out to a monotone memory of once was. The end of the world has really had its affect on everyone, even the weather. 

The ride remains silent as we coast through the suburban streets of Sullivan’s Island. It feels so empty. Houses remain dark, no one strolls the streets, and no other cars hesitantly pass us. It’s like we’re the only ones here. 

The trees are dying and whatever patches of grass that are visible are brown and rotten. I drive slow enough to try and avoid slipping on ice, it’s eerily silent and I’m rethinking if this was the best decision. 

“It’s better this way,” I hear Marco hum from beside me as he looks out the passenger side window. 

“What’s better this way?” I ask him. He turns to look out the front windshield. His tired eyes and banged up face make him look miserable. 

“Everyone’s gone,” he sighs, “Maybe less people will get hurt then.” 

“What...what people?” I ask hesitant to why he’s thinking like this.  

“When the final fight comes,” he says, “Maybe less people with get hurt in the process.” 

Oh. Right.

The fight.

This fucking fight is gonna be the death of me...probably literally. I don’t like thinking about it. I still don’t know how I’m suppose to wrangle up a rag tag team of spirits to take on the fucking devil and his demons. And now, there’s supposedly four horsemen that we have to fight, one of them being Annie. My stomach turning tells me I don’t think we have such a great shot at this thing. 

I notice that I’m gripping the steering with white knuckles when Marco’s warm fingertips brush my wrist. I unhinge my hand and lace it with his, resting them on my thigh. I’m glad he’s here, that he’s alive and lucid. I’m happy he can still hold my hand and tell me everything's alright without saying a word. What I’m not happy about is what I have to walk into with him by my side. I wish I could put him on a boat and ship him to safety, but he’s a part of this too, he always has been, I’m the noob here. 

We drive into the city, no traffic, no people, nothing. We drive over the bridge and see the water without any people on boats or at the beach.

In Charleston, it’s even worse. 

It’s a Ghost Town. It’s like the end of the world already happened and we missed out on the big finale. 

Worst of all, it actually looks like everyone already died; because there’s ghosts, everywhere. 

It’s unbelievable how many spirits there are covering the streets of Charleston. They’re everywhere, they’re fucking everywhere. As I drive they turn and face us, watch us go by, and start following us. From all kinds of ages, sizes, time periods, ethnicities, everything. There are just so many on them. 

I drive even slower because I feel like I’m actually going to hit them with my fucking car, but they don’t feel it. As I come close enough they float into a mist and reappear once I’ve passed them. It’s horrifying. I don’t know if these people have already been dead or if they’ve all been freshly taken out. Some of them try to speak at me from outside the car, some of them point at us and tug at each other’s sleeves to get other’s attention. Some of them are strong enough to knock on the car, I try not to swerve when they scream at me. 

“Jean?” Marco says squeezing my hand. I blink the tears out of my eyes, and notice that I’m crushing Marco’s hand. I let go and apologize. I wipe forcefully at the tears lingering on my cheeks, and sniff up the rest of my unnecessary emotional response. 

“What do you see?” he asks calmly trailing his hand back to rest it on my knee. 

I pause to answer, still distracted with how overwhelming this all is. I recognize a few of the spirits, spirits that I thought Armin and I had helped to move on. What’s going on? 

Through the ocean of ghosts I can see the remnants of what the end of the world has done to the city. I honestly don’t think anyone is here. I just hope that everyone just decided to pack up and leave instead of what the other option is… 

“Jean, talk to me,” Marco says again, concern surfacing on his voice. 

“They’re…” I start my voice wavering and weak, “They’re everywhere.” More stupid tears fall from my eyes as I gape at the surrounding scene. Marco doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look, he just gives my knee a squeeze. “I just- I don’t know if they’re...new or not.” I don’t know how else to phrase it. I also don’t want to scare Olli in the back into thinking that everyone has just mysteriously died.

Loved ones float through my mind. Mom, Dad, Sasha, Connie. Are they all dead? Was there a wicked plague that decided to pass Armin's front door that was covered in sheep's blood? Are we the last one’s left? Is there even a world left saving? 

I try to keep myself from panicking any further. It’s highly unlikely that everyone in the state was just wiped out, right? ….Right?

“Turn left here,” Amelia says from the back. I’d almost forgotten that we were going to this Voodoo Priestesses house. I hope she isn’t dead. 

Amelia directs me through Charleston as Marco holds my hand. With every turn we take it seems like there’s even more spirits. The streets are crowded yet empty, and I can’t manage any sense that this can mean anything good. Fog blankets the ground over untouched snow, the deeper we get into the town the thicker it gets, the more my anxiety tells me to turn back, and the more spirits I can see. 

Eventually we putter up to a small apartment complex that has two floors and maybe a dozens flats total. It’s weathered and creepy, and that’s before the fog and snow. Not to mention the unitarian cemetery that sits directly behind; of which I know, is very haunted. Although Edgar Allen Poe’s Ex is buried there and is pretty cool, she’s mostly sad all the time but sweet. I stroll by to see how she’s doing every once in awhile. But there’s also a crazy serial killer lady that killed hitchhikers with her husband buried there that isn’t so friendly. So I don’t really make it around that often.  

I peer out the front windshield noticing the only movement of lost spirits slowly turning to me once they notice I’m here. Yeah, I’ve decided that they’re all turning towards me, it just feels like it. They’re looking for me, but I have no idea what they want. 

“You sure this is it?” I groan biting my lip a bit. I hope Amelia says that she directed us wrong and that their Voodoo friend actually lives in a five star hotel downtown where we can stay with the pleasures of the wealthy without having to pay for anything. 

I know I’m wrong when Marco squeezes my hand. 

“This is it,” Amelia sighs shuffling to start making her way out of the car and towards the apartments. Olli follows her. Marco stays with me watching his sisters walk around us. They step up the metal staircase with their heads down against the cold and their breath making clouds of smoke that adds to the thickness of the fog. 

“I don’t feel right,” I mumble leaning back in my seat. I try not to look at any of the spirits oogling me in the eye, I feel like if I do they’ll attack or something. 

“Me neither,” Marco sighs. I turn to him and notice how exhausted he looks. I mean, I can’t imagine he got any real sleep last night with all the terrors, plus he’s still recovering. I’m surprised with how well he’s taking it. His freckles stand out against his blood drained skin, the scars on the right side of his face are thick in a bright red and pink color, he’s sunken and boney from not eating much. Guilt buries itself in my gut yet again.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have left,” I say. Marco turns with furrowed brows, studying my face to look for reasons for my sudden change of heart. 

“He had to leave Jean,” he says with a warm tone, but then his facade cools making him looks distant and a little sick, “This is when it starts.”

I blow out a frustrated sigh despite the skip of my faux heart. I level Marco with a look, “Can you please not be so cryptic and mysterious for a second? You’re always one step ahead yet everyone is left in the dark and bad shit still happens.” 

He pulls my hand into his lap and looks at my fingers as he traces random patterns in my palm. “The bad shit will still happen whether I say something or not,” he sighs. I don’t want to be hard on him but ever since I’ve known him he’s always acted like he’s been hiding something. And last night he was prepared to tell me everything, but those plans were forcibly changed. “Honestly I don’t know why I don’t tell anyone,” he smiles to himself, “I think it has something to do with my mother, I mean, I used to tell her everything and it still didn’t change things in the end. I feel like it’s useless, and it scares people. I don’t know Jean, it’s a burden that people don’t deserve to have to carry.” 

I tug his hand back towards me, bringing his attention and his pretty brown eyes back to me. “I’m with you. No matter how scary or dark or heavy it is, I’m with you. Don’t feel like you have to hide what you know to protect me, I’d rather know and be scared than be in the dark with a fake sense of calm.”

Marco winces a smile at me, “You’ll learn a whole meaning to the phrase ‘ignorance is bliss.’”

I smile back at him, “So be it.”

I notice out of the corner of my eye a waving movement. I glance over at Olli who’s motioning us up the metal stairs. Huh, guess Mrs. Voodoo is still alive. 

“I’ll tell you inside,” Marco sighs noticing his little sister as well. “Besides, I think Alla may be able to help sort things out.” 

I take his word for it and grab our bags. We stumble up the metal stairs, Marco clings onto my arm trying to keep balance with his sore body as I try to avoid the spirits that surround us. Eventually we come up to the door and let ourselves in. 

I don’t know what I expected inside the oh-so powerful and mystical Voodoo Priestess's apartment, but normal was the farthest thing. The walls were a warm normal beige color, along with a plush brown couch sitting across from a fake fireplace. There’s a kitchen farther into the apartment that doesn’t have an open fire with a giant black cauldron hanging over it bubbling green slime over the sides. There’s a small wooden table surrounded by four chairs, and a set of normal kitchen appliances. Everything is so normal that I think I’ve grown even more suspicious. 

Amelia and Olli are in the kitchen talking with another woman. She’s about as tall as Amelia with milk chocolate skin and enchanting hazel eyes, her dark curly hair seems to look like it does whatever it wants to do. Her distracting eyes flick up from Amelia to Marco and I at the door, and she frowns. She pushes herself between the girls and makes a beeline for us with her eyes glued on Marco. I think I heard him whimper a bit. 

She reaches up and goes to grab Marco by the face turning his chin to examine his scars. “What in the good lord have you gotten yourself into?” she mumbles under her breath as she pretty much does a head to toe inspection. Marco fidgets and looks guilty as her fingers trail over his bruises. 

“I’m fine Alla,” he groans as he tries to pry her hands from him, “It was an accident.” I shoot him a look when he says that. Fucking Marco Bodt never willing to blame someone for something he can rationalize as an accident. 

She steps back with a raised eyebrow crossing her arms, “Right, if your sisters hadn’t already told me what happened I would’ve known you were lying from the look that boy just gave you.” I almost choke. Marco and I make ashamed glances at each other. Boy she’s good. “Come here,” she sighs pulling Marco into a hug. 

I stare down at my shoes and watch my toes tap anxiously. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Alla is not who I thought she was. She’s no supernatural force that lives in the bayou amongst alligators and mosquitoes. She’s normal, lives in an apartment, and seems like a mom to the Bodt’s. I’m pretty sure that makes me even more uncomfortable. The supernatural and weird is where I belong, not with mother figures and siblings. 

“And you must be the infamous Jean Kirstein that everyone’s been talkin’ about,” she says as I look up at her. Her eyes catch me off guard again and I feel like I’ve seen them before. I gape at her without a word to prove that I’m not weird. She turns to Marco a bit, “Doesn’t talk much does he?” she mumbles. 

I choke out a cough, “I-uh, sorry, yeah, my- my name’s Jean Kirstein.” The heat of embarrassment stings the back of my neck. 

She smiles a look of pity, “I know,” she says, “That’s what I said.” 

“Right, sorry, I thought- you just, you just look familiar,” I stutter trying to rub the blush off my neck.

She laughs out a sigh, “...okay then, lets just get some food in you boys.” She turns and goes back to the kitchen with a sway to her hips and bounce to her hair. 

I look at Marco who’s holding a laugh in, I glare at him through my eyebrows, “Shut up,” I growl. He bites his lip to keep from smiling. I hate him. 

“C’mon,” he chuckles, “I’ll take you to our room.” He trails across the apartment and I follow after him feeling warm from the way he said ‘our room.’ The apartment looks like it has only two bedrooms, one is Alla’s and another that looks untouched. Marco places our bags on the full sized bed that’s pushed against the wall. “Usually this would be Mom and my sister’s room whenever we came over and I’d sleep on the couch, but I think I’m kicking them out under the circumstances,” he shrugs looking more and more exhausted the longer he stands. 

“Dude, I can sleep on the couch, it’s no big deal,” I offer feeling imposing. He looks up at me with determination. 

“No way, you’re sleeping with me. Amelia can sleep on the couch and Olli can sleep in Alla’s room,” he demands. I give it up there because I don’t want to sleep alone either. 

We make our way back to the kitchen where the room has been transformed by the amazing aroma of the food Alla’s cooking. I have no idea what it is, but I’m going to eat the shit out of it. She’s stirring something in a metal pot on the stove as Olli tells her about Armin’s house. She looks up at us and back at the pot.

“Jean honey, put Marco in a seat before he passes out,” she says at the stove. I notice Marco starting to sway next to me, so I grab him by the elbow and pull out one of the kitchen chairs for him to sit in. He doesn’t protest. 

I take a seat next to him and brush some of his hair out of his face. He really doesn’t look good. Just this morning he was unconscious in bed trying to heal from nearly being beaten to death. My hand trails down his face over his scars and to his jaw. I run my thumb along the defined edge and look at his lidded eyes. He looks dazed and a little sick. 

“You okay?” I whisper to him. 

He swallows and blinks a few times, “Yeah,” he swallows again, “I’m just tired.” I give him a small frown and kiss him on the temple. He shakily sighs and leans over to rest his head on my shoulder. 

“Tell me about yourself Jean,” Alla calls from the stove. I’m almost startled about her question. Especially because, most of the time, people who know about my gift don’t care about me, they care about my gift. 

“Uhh,” I draw out thinking of something to say hoping actual words come to my mouth this time. “I...um, I don’t really do much,” I wince. 

She snorts, “Nonsense, Olli over here’s been talking ‘bout how you’re the ‘coolest person she knows’,” she looks over her shoulder at me, “And she knows _ me _ .” 

I smile, I think I like her, but she also scares the hell out of me, and I’m still trying to figure out why she looks so familiar. “I think she may have over exaggerated,” I say. Olli rolls her eyes. 

“He’s a writer,” Marco mumbles from my shoulder, adjusting a bit to look at Alla. “But he won’t let anyone read it.” 

Alla perks up an eyebrow as she dishes out what looks like soup into some bowls. More embarrassment warms my cheeks and prickles at the back of my neck. I don’t think I like being the center of attention. 

“Oh, don’t be so shy,” Alla coos as she brings the steaming bowls to the table, “The Bodt’s have a way of getting information out of you,” she winks. She sets a bowl in front of me that omits warm steam and an enchanting smell that I’m almost distracted by. Marco perks up too blinking down at his own bowl of soup. 

“Yeah but we learned it from you, Alla,” Amelia says as she makes her way to the table. 

Alla smiles, “I do have my ways.” Olli giggles and we’re all sat at the table as Alla lights what looks like a homemade candle. It flickers a crackles with a wooden wick.

The soup is amazing. I don’t know what’s in it, but it looks close enough to some sort of stew that I don’t ask questions, I just eat. The girls all talk about Armin’s house and all the crazy people who live there. Although they refrain from saying much about when I died and when Marco  _ almost _ died. Alla nods along making occasional side glances to check up on Marco who isn’t saying much. I try to stay out of the conversation as well, unless Olli nods at me to confirm about something she’d said. 

In a moment of silence caught between mouthfuls of soup, I manage to get a word in. “So…” I freeze because I don’t really know what to call Alla. I guess I’d call her by her first name but I have a weird instinct to call her Mrs. Bodt. Not being able to make a decision quick enough, I just look at her. “Uh, do you know where everyone went? It’s kind of a ghost town out there.” 

She looks down into her bowl and fidgets with her spoon, “About two weeks ago is when the weather really started to affect people's lives. People of the south are not accustomed to the cold, schools shut down along with grocery stores, banks, and a few roads throughout the city. They couldn’t stay here. Most everyone skipped a few towns over where the coldest it’s gotten has been in the fifties. Charleston is the center of it all, the weather, the spike in paranormal activity, the feeling of fear everywhere,” she says darkly. Two weeks ago: the night my soul was ripped from me in the cemetery. When the weather changed from South Carolina sun to frozen tundra in less than 24 hours. Everyone left because of it. It’s a relief that it wasn’t a plague that washed through the town instead. 

“So why didn’t you leave?” I ask.

She smiles a bit, “Because I knew what was happening. Maia talked about it all the time, she said that  _ it _ would start with a warning. The warning being the cold; a sign from God himself to lead people away from danger.” 

The room got silent. Maia. Maia Bodt. Marco’s, Amelia’s and Olli’s Mom. 

Wait. 

That’s who she is. 

I start talking without realizing who is in the room, words just start coming out of my mouth. “You were there,” I start, “When she died, when Maia Bodt died. I saw you in the vision, you were there with-”

Marco stops me by grabbing my thigh roughly. I freeze and notice how the color has drained from Amelia and Olli’s faces. The vision I had in the cemetery, Marco’s Mom having a vision and struggling for her life. There had been another woman in the room that I didn’t know, but it’s her. I only told Marco about it. Fuck. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright, Jean,” Alla says, “Just let it be.” I nod and clamp my mouth shut, the silence burning my ears. 

We all sit there with the thoughts of Maia Bodt running through our heads, none of them pleasing, and nothing else to say. God I’m such a fuck up. 

Amelia clears her throat and stands from the table without a word. She sets her bowl in the sink and trails down the hallway towards the bathroom. Only a moment later do I hear the shower start running. 

“I’m uh, kinda tired. I think I’m gonna head to bed,” Olli sighs following the same route as her older sister. She stops to kiss Alla and Marco goodnight, and gives me a pat on my shoulder. I still envy her strength and wisdom. 

I nearly pray for Marco to not leave. I didn’t mean to make anyone upset. He sits there staring down into his bowl with dull eyes looking hollow and empty. Though his hand still rests on my thigh reassuring me that he’s still here. I lace my fingers with his and he gives a weak squeeze. 

“Get yourself some rest baby, Jean and I will clean up,” Alla says as she starts to gather the rest of the bowls. 

Marco blinks slowly and struggles to push himself up. I help him the best I can, but he waves me off using the wall to support him as he stumbles to the bedroom. I watch him go and my stomach sits uneasy with how terrible he looks. I hope he doesn’t have an infection or something. 

“He’s something else, isn’t he?” Alla hums from the sink as she starts to rinse the bowls. 

Marco disappears into the room and I sigh, “He sure is.” 

“I don’t have to tell you to treat him right, do I? I’m sure Amelia has gotten to that already,” she says turning away from the sink and leaning on the counter. 

I try to breathe out the anxiety that rises to my chest but it doesn’t really work. I awkwardly stuff my hands in my pockets and try to use some of my charismatic charm to win Alla over. “Yes Ma’am,” I nod. 

“Good, then we can get on to other things,” she sighs. The warm stone that hangs from the chain around my neck gives a paranoid thump. “We need to get you ready for battle.” 

Right. There it is. The apocalypse talk that had been suspiciously vacant for most of the night. 

“Look, I dont want to-”

“No matter how much you deny it, it’s still coming,” she interrupts, “And if you have any hope of making out of this alive I suggest you start preparing.”

She levels me with her hazel eyes, I summon some sort of strength to shoot her a glare back. “I don’t expect to come out of this alive,” I growl. 

She works her jaw and steps toward me, lowering her voice she says, “If you die, so does he.” She points toward the hallway Marco just escaped down.

Anger rises in my chest. I’m so sick of people thinking they know what’s best for me or Marco. No one realises what it feels like to have this burden on our shoulders. Everyone thinks they know what to do to win, or what to make  _ us _ do to win. “That’s bullshit, this is all bullshit,” I spit, “You know nothing.”

“I know that you’re scared out of your mind. That you don’t know who to trust or where to go, you’re friends have lied and betrayed you. You think that this is the end for you and that Marco would be better off without you anyway-”

What the fuck? How does she know this?  
“Stop-”

“You’re going to die if you don’t do something about it Jean, we’re all gonna die. Maia Bodt died thinking that you would be strong enough to keep her family safe, and I’m not gonna let her death be a forgotten lie because you aren’t strong enough-”

“ _ Stop _ -” My chest is throbbing, my mind is on fire, I can’t seem to make a coherent thought or breathe a steadying breath. She’s reading me like a book, how is she doing this?

“She’s going to come for you. You and Marco, it’s the only way-”

I almost scream, but Marco’s strained voice come from down the hall.

“Jean!” 

Desperate and scared, something I’ve begun to notice in Marco’s cries. Both Alla and I stop. I make a break for the bedroom, ripping away from Alla’s mind games. 

I skid to a halt in front of our room. Marco his huddled on the ground leaning on the doorframe, shaking. I kneel in front of him and instinctively take hold of his face trying to catch his eyes. A layer a sweat covers his skin, his eyes are unnaturally faded almost like he has cataracts, and his breaths are shallow and quick. 

“S-s-something’s w-wrong,” he sputters. His trembling fingers search out for me, I take them and rest his palm to my chest. 

“I’m here, talk to me,” I say in the most calming voice I can muster. His fingers curl into a fist grabbing at the material of my sweatshirt. 

“Wha-what’s happening?” he chokes. His eyes nervously wander, but he doesn’t focus on anything, I don’t know what he’s looking for. 

“Marco-”

“It’s okay baby,” Alla coos beside me. I hadn’t realized she was even there, “It’s just a little something to help the prophecy.”

“I ca-can’t s-see,” he breaths pulling me towards him.

“I know, it’ll be over soon,” she says in the same soft voice. I let him pull me to him, wrapping my arms around him to try and sooth his trembling body. What’s going on?

I look over at Alla who seems unbothered. “What did you do?” I growl. 

She sighs frustratedly, “He’s been confused and scared, Jean. I’m helping clear things up.”

“Did you fucking drug him?” I hiss at her. Marco groans and pulls at my sweatshirt, he’s in pain. 

“Hazel helps visions come through for psychics, it’s in the candle,” she shrugs, “It’s _ helping _ him Jean.”

Marco chokes and jerks forward. “Does it fucking look like it’s helping?” I yell at her. 

Olli stumbles out of the room next to us and gasps. She bends to Marco and I, “What’s going on?” she asks, panicked. 

“The fucking candle is making him have visions,” I hiss. Olli looks up at Alla and bolts down the hall to the kitchen. 

“He’s not strong enough this time!” she calls behind her, I assume it’s directed at Alla. 

Marco starts pushing me away, he’s making sounds that I think are meant to be words but I can’t understand him. He wriggles out of my hold and leans back on the wall resting his head back exposing the pale column of his neck. I watch as the scars along his face and neck start to flatten and fade, leaving his skin pale and clean. 

What the..?

He sucks in deep breaths as he gapes at the ceiling, he chokes out a cry while his hands curl into fists in the carpet. 

My stomach drops, here it comes. 

I quickly remember when Marco was able to do that weird vulcan mind trick and see the vision I had without saying a word. I wonder if he can do that when  _ he’s _ having a vision? Maybe it’ll help relieve some of the pain.

I grab his hand and hold it up to the side of my face, “Come on Marco, show me, please, show me show me show me-”

“Jean dont-!” I hear behind me. 

And there it is.

Next thing I know, I’m standing in a cemetery. Gray fog blurs everything beyond the gates. It’s humid and the air sticks to my skin in slick sweat. I realise that someone’s holding my hand, I turn to see Marco standing next to me. His stance his ridged and still, he stares into the fog with determination and a bit of fear. I squeeze his hand to tell him I’m here, a moment later, he squeezes back.

I look back to the fog, waiting. Something’s hiding in plain sight. I feel it. I think Marco does too.

I only realize that it’s deathly quiet when I hear something crack, like someone stepping on a stick, and a then a faint whimper. 

More footsteps come quietly, until a figure appears through the fog. It’s a man, tall and slim, taking short tense steps deeper into the cemetery. He sounds like he’s weeping, but there’s no expression on his face, the weeping is in the air, in the fog. He walks like he’s not in control, like he’s a marionette. Suddenly he stops. Standing perfectly still staring straight forward, like a soilder.  

There’s another sound but it’s no whimper or weeping, it’s a loud blaring horn that vibrates through the air and through our bodies. It continues as another figure emerges from the fog, he isn’t as tall as the first man but he still measures up. He’s broad and strong, but just like the first, he’s expressionless striding into the cemetery. With every step, fire flares beneath his feet, lighting the grass with licking flames that start to claw at the headstones. He stops next to the first man as the horn and fire continue on. 

I want to be panicked but I can’t really move, the only thing steading me is Marco’s hand. Who are these people?

I can’t hear anything over the horn, it feels like white noise clouding my mind. But something else is there, crawling up my neck and to the back of my head. Something annoying and sickly making me want to scratch or scream. It winds up my mind and I feel like I’m going crazy. It’s almost like voices, but small and inhuman. All I can can do is let it happen. 

The fire fades from licking flames to a low burn, merely covering the grass instead of burning it. It fades into a sickly green color, and that’s when another figure appears. It’s a girl, tall and bold. She walks up next to the previous guy and stands with them in a line.  

The three people stand there, all looking like they’re in their twenties. Normal people. They wear normal clothes and don’t seem to be anything like forsaken monsters or demons about to bite. They just look like completely normal people, standing in a row, as horns blare and noises pick through the fog, and as the ground burns green. 

Just as I think that that’s it, everything starts to fade like someone's dimming the light in the cemetery. Everything goes to dark, the fire, the fog, until it’s completely black. The horn and the voices are gone and it feels like we’ve been sucked up into a black hole. 

With a crack of lightning, she’s there. 

Annie. 

An ominous swirl of gray and green clouds cast an eerie light on the cemetery. Showing us the four people standing in a row, Annie the last one to arrive. 

My stomach sinks. Why is she here? 

_ “The Horsemen,”  _ I hear Marco’s voice in the back of my mind. “ _ It’s the Four Horsemen.”  _

The ground shakes beneath our feet. It makes sick cracking and howling noises until something claws up from the land. In the darkness, a hand reaches up from the opening in the ground in front of the four. I watch as it claws at the dirt around it until the rest of its body is free.

He stands over his grave, beat up and bloody, grinning amongst it all.

Eren. 

I stop breathing. 

I want to scream or call to him or something. He doesn’t belong over there. I don’t know what any of this is or what any of this means, but it’s not good, and Eren does not need to be standing there. 

Both the sky and the ground rumble. Beneath Eren’s feet, black goo bubbles up and seeps thick across the burnt grass. It starts to steam, dissolving everything it touches, until the ground is eaten away and opens up to the fiery pits beneath it. The heat radiates up in waves making the air nearly unbreathable. But I don’t move, I don’t gasp or choke for air, I just stand there unmoving and susceptible to anything that happens around us.  

As Marco and I stare down the Four Horsemen, light wispy figures dance around us, looking like a mirage of silk fabrics and wavy hair. They’re spirits. I hear them whisper and scream around me. In the next instant, I look down and see my clothes hanging off of me in pieces, my pale skin clings to my bones like wet paper towels, and blood is smeared everywhere. 

I look next to me and Marco’s gone, only more spirits. I try to call out his name but no sound comes from my mouth. I turn back to the Horsemen and they’ve disappeared, leaving only Eren behind, still grinning, newly risen from his grave. 

Shadows claw up from the open ground around him, their glowing red eyes light up the darkness making everything panicked. 

Eren jerks back unnaturally, like he was pushed by an invisible force. He twists and twitches where I can actually hear his body pop and crack. A rumbling growl echoes around the air, like a lizard or dragon. Eren continues to pop and crack like he’s being broken and put back together wrong, until it looks like he’s starting to grow. He twists and breaks until he’s standing fifty feet tall, naked, sharp-toothed, with glowing green eyes. 

No.

_ No. _

This is the vision I had before, from Maia Bodt. I scream soundlessly. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this. This can’t happen. I’m so cold and hungry and lost. I don’t want to be here. This isn’t fair. This isn’t _ fair _ . 

And just as it happened before. I point to the monster - Eren - and the swarm of spirits around me advance forward, demolishing all the shadows and demons in their path. But Eren doesn’t seem bothered by them, he laughs a rumble from the back of his throat stepping forward causing the ground to shake and crumble. 

I want to run or hide or scream or cry, but I can’t. I just stand there. I can’t move Why can’t I move? 

Eren bends and swoops a giant hand down at me, but just when I think he’s going to slap me out of existence, his hand passes through me effortlessly. I shudder a bit and stare up at the creature who gives a comical eyebrow of confusion. 

I hear a scream beside me, and I turn to see Marco again. But he’s changed. His eyes are milky white and his skin pale, but the weirdest part is the wings. Yeah, wings. Great white and gray feathered wings protrude out of his back, taller than him and bloodied where it looks like they just sprouted from him. He turns his head and looks at me, he reaches out a hand and I try to take it but I still can’t move, I can’t do anything. 

I watch him as fire swarms us, the feathers from his wings start to flutter from him and burn. More and more feathers fly from him. With his hand still stretched out to me his whole body flies away as feathers, and disappear into the flames. 

Then, everything goes black. 

-

I startle awake. I open my eyes to find myself on the floor, laying next to Marco whose hand still rests on my face. He sees me and realizes what we just saw. At that point there’s nothing stopping us from frantically clawing to each other and holding the other tighter than necessary. 

I dig my face into his hair trying to steady myself with his scent. He sputters apologies into my shoulder as he pulls me closer. I try to run a calming hand through his hair but my fingers are trembling and I can’t imagine it’s very comforting. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, god Jean, I’m so sorry-”

“Shh, it’s okay it’s okay…” my voice cracks and I unwillingly start to cry. I want to be strong for Marco, really, but this whole time I’ve been trying to forget the vision that I’d had two weeks ago. I didn’t want it to be true. Even when Marco showed me his notebook in the garden, telling me that he’s been having these visions over and over again, I still didn’t want to believe it. But there it was, and I stood next to Marco holding his hand, watching the world be flipped over with monsters and ghosts. It’s all true. 

Marco and I sit there for who knows how long, clinging onto each other like we might never get to again. My breaths come out ragged and uneven, Marco’s trying to whisper sweet nothings into my ear, telling me everything will be okay. But it won’t be, and we both know it. 

Behind my closed eyelids I can still see it all. The Four Horsemen, standing in a line like soldiers, Annie. Eren crawling out of his grave, grinning. The swirling sky and rumbling ground. The way Eren’s body popped and twisted until he was a giant monster with glowing eyes. The spirits, the way my skin hung dead on my body. I don’t want to think about it. But it’s real, and it’s coming. The worst of it was Marco. His scream, the wings that ripped themselves from his back, how he reached out for me and I couldn’t catch him, how he faded into feathers and burned into the swarm of fire. 

What does this all mean? 

Once I get my breathing to an even rate, I look up from Marco’s shoulder and see Olli sitting in front of me wide eyed and waiting. Once we make eye contact, she throws herself onto the bundle of Marco and I trying to wrap her small arms around the both of us. She has so much love and the need to protect her older brother, and even me, that it almost makes me smile. 

We sit like that, again, forever. Olli pulls away and Marco and I break apart just enough to look at each other. There’s no way in hell I’m going to peep a word about what we just saw, and I don’t think Marco will either. Now I know why it was so hard to get him talk about his visions. It’s horrific. 

Marco traces his thumb along my cheeks wiping the wetness away. I lean into the touch noticing the small smile on Marco lips as I do so. I also notice how different he looks. I remember right before the vision how the scars were vanishing on his skin, and it’s true, they’re gone, like, completely. It’s now the same smooth freckled skin that I adored. But there’s more than that, his skin is brighter, no longer a transparent pale, the bags under his eyes are gone, his lips are full and a fresh pink. It’s like he was magically healed without being touched. How?

My fingers start to roam his face where his wounds were, brushing his hair behind his ear and planting a kiss on his cheekbone. He notices my curious wandering of his features and raises an eyebrow. 

“Your scars,” I say in a strained hoarse voice. I try to swallow to clear the stinging in my throat but it doesn’t really help. “They’re gone,” I whisper. 

Marco lifts a hand to his cheek, feeling his smooth even skin, and smiles. His smile suppresses all the paranoia and fear from the vision. Just to see him smile is all I need to feel safe. 

I hear Olli giggle beside us, we both turn to her confused. “The soup,” she shrugs, “Alla and I may have brewed up something special to help with your healing,” she smiles. 

Marco and I turn back to each other and smile. Boy these people are crazy. And speaking of crazy people, where is Alla? 

I look around us to see that we’re alone in the hallway, no sign of Alla or Amelia. But there is something. Not really something, more like someone, lingering in the bedroom behind Marco. Someone is looking at us, hidden away in the shadows, doing their best to go unnoticed. And it seems like they’re doing a great job too, because no one else can see her. Only me, because she’s a ghost. 

I swallow and give Marco a squeeze on his knee. I slowly stand on shaky limbs and step carefully into the room. I steady my breathing and try to feel her, closing my eyes and letting her presence guide me. A fleeting thought in my head tells me that I’m tired of this shit and want a fucking break, but I ignore it.

“Jean?” Marco says standing with me. “What is it?” I feel his hand loosely hold onto my elbow. It’s grounding knowing that he’s here. 

“Someone’s here,” I whisper. His hand tightens on my arm. He whispers behind him to Olli telling her to find Alla. Once her footsteps fade down the hall, he whispers again. 

“Not a real person, right?” he says cautiously. I both smile and wince at the question. Part of it is cute because of Marco’s innocence, the other part is the fact that technically spirits  _ are _ real people, just  _ dead _ real people. I bite my tongue to refrain from correcting him and nod. 

Something catches, I open my eyes a turn directly beside me, and there she is. She standing there, maybe only six inches away, looking up at Marco who has no idea that she’s there. 

I see her and know exactly who she is. 

My stomach sinks. 

The spirit that brought all of this upon us. 

The one that spoke that stupid prophecy in the first place. 

Mary-Elle. 


End file.
